fttjujSlftr**~<*4A-   .  I 


OLD   MASTERS  AND   NEW 


SECOND   SERIES 


RUBENS:   "PORTRAIT  OF  HELENA  FOURMENT  " 


PAINTERS   AND 
SCULPTORS 

A  SECOND  SERIES  OF 

Old  Masters  and  New 

BY 
KENYON    COX 


NEW    YORK 

DUFFIELD   &  COMPANY 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
DUFFIELD   &  COMPANY 


Published,  1907 


Art 

Library 

A/ 


To    EDWIN    H.    BLASHFIELD 

MY  DEAK  BLASHFIELD: 

From  no  one  else  have  I  so  often  received  encouragement, 
either  in  my  proper  work  as  an  artist  or  in  my  attempts  at 
criticism,  as  from  yourself.  As  a  painter  and  a  writer  you 
know  the  difficulties  of  both  arts,  and  your  unfailing  sympathy 
with  my  aims  and  appreciation  of  my  efforts  has  been  a  fre- 
quent help  when  I  most  needed  it.  May  I  not,  then,  as  a  slight 
testimony  of  gratitude,  of  affection,  and  of  esteem,  dedicate 
this  second  series  of  my  essays  to  you? 

KIKYOK  Cox. 
March  30th,  1907. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   THE  EDUCATION  OF  AN  ARTIST 
II.   THE  POLLAIUOLI   ......        19 

III.    PAINTERS  OF  THE  MODE         .  .          .          .33 

IV.   HOLBEIN      ....  .         .       67 

V.  THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY  .         .          .91 

VI.   RODIN          ...  ...      127 

VII.   LORD  LEIGHTON            .          .  .          .          .157 


vn 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


RUBENS:  Portrait  of  Helena  Fourment     .      .      .     FRONTISPIECE 

Facing  Page 

Tomb  of  Antonio  and  Piero  Pollaiuolo     ...  12 

ANTONIO  POLLAIUOLO:  Battle  of  Ten  Nudes       ....  22 

ANTONIO  POLLAIUOLO:  Frescoes  from  Villa  Gallina       .      .  24 
ANTONIO  and  PIERO  POLLAIUOLO:  SS.  James,  Vincent,  and 

Eustace 26 

PIERO   POLLAIUOLO:   The   Annunciation 26 

ANTONIO  POLLAIUOLO:  Hercules  Slaying  the  Hydra     .      .  28 

GHIHLANDAIO:  Birth  of  John  the  Baptist 34 

LEONARDO:  La  Belle  Feronniere 38 

RAPHAEL:  Joanna  of  Aragon 40 

CARPACCIO:  St.  Ursula  Leaving  her  Parents      ....  42 

TITIAN:  Sacred  and  Profane  Love 44 

VERONESE:  Marriage  of  St.   Catherine 44 

HOLBEIN:  The  Lady   Heveningham 46 

VELASQUEZ:  The  Infanta  Maria  Theresa 48 

RUBENS:  The  Garden  of  Love 50 

VAN  DYCK:  Marie  Louise  Von  Tassis 52 

TER  BORCH:  The  Concert 54 

WATTEAU:    Ffete    Galante 56 

GAINSBOROUGH:  Portrait  of  Mrs.  Beaufoy 58 

DAVTD:  Portrait  of  Mme.  Re'camier 60 


x  LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing  Page 

INC.HKS:   Portrait  of  Mme.   Riviere 60 

STEVENS:  Une  Veuve 63 

Une  Mere 64 

HOLBEIN:    The   Dead   Christ 68 

Christ     Before     Pilate        68 

The    Nativity        70 

Lais    Corinthiaca 72 

Portrait  of  Jane  Seymour 76 

Sir  John  Gage 76 

Holbein's  Wife  and  Children 78 

Portrait   of  Erasmus 80 

Christina,  Duchess  of  Milan 80 

Portrait  of  Hubert  Morett 82 

Portrait  of  Georg  Gyze 86 

REMBRANDT:  Portrait  of  a  Man   (Himself?)      ....  92 

Sobieski        98 

The  Night  Watch 100 

The  Death  of  the  Virgin 102 

Abraham  Entertaining  the  Angels     .     .      .  104 

Dr.  Faustus 108 

The  Supper  at  Emmaus 110 

Lady  with   a   Fan 112 

Portrait  of  Elizabeth  Bas 112 

Girl  with  a  Broom 114 

Man  with  a  Black  Hat 114 

The  Return  of  the  Prodigal  Son    ....  116 

The  Carpenter's    Household 116 

Vision  of  Daniel 118 

The  Little  Raising  of  Lazarus     ....  118 

The  Descent  from  the  Cross 120 

Tobit   Blind  120 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  .*i 

Facing  Page 
REMBRANDT — Continued. 

Tobias  Alarmed  at  the  Sight  of  the  Fish     .  122 

Tobias    and   the   Angel         124 

Lot   and   His   Family 124 

Romx:  The  Age  of  Bronze 130 

The  Danaid 124 

The   Thinker 138 

Victor   Hugo 146 

Bust  of  Mme.  V 148 

Thought 150 

Statue  of  Balzac 152 

The   Kiss 154 

LEIGIITOX:  Clytemnestra        158 

The  Summer  Moon 160 

Antique    Juggling    Girl 160 

The  Bath  of  Psyche 162 

Athlete   Struggling  with  a   Python        .      .      .  164 

Greek  Girl  Picking  up  Shells  by  the  Seashore  164 
Fatidica                                       ...                 .168 


PREFACE 

THE  Preface  to  the  unillustrated  edition  of  "  Old 
Masters  and  New,"  published  in  1905,  concluded  with 
a  half  promise  of  future  editions,  "  augmented  and 
enlarged,"  in  which  other  masters,  old  and  new, 
should  be  treated  of.  Circumstances  and  the  pub- 
lishers have  decided  that  this  independent  collection 
of  essays,  produced  during  the  past  two  years,  should 
be  offered,  rather  than  an  enlarged  edition  of  the  first 
series. 

The  promise  was  made  conditional  upon  the  en- 
couragement of  the  public,  and  the  encouragement 
extended  has,  indeed,  been  sufficient  to  incline  me  to 
believe  that,  in  spite  of  the  ancient  opinion  that 
artists  are  the  worst  of  critics,  a  part  of  the  public 
is  willing  to  listen  to  a  practical  artist  talking  of  art. 
The  accusations  most  commonly  made  against  the 
artist  as  critic  are  two  in  number.  The  first  is  that 
the  artist  is  necessarily  so  biassed  by  his  own  practice 
as  to  be  unable  to  see  the  merits  of  other  methods  than 
his  own ;  that  being  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  imme- 
morial battle  of  the  schools,  other  artists,  living  or 
dead,  will  seem  to  him  either  allies  or  opponents,  and 
that  he  will  over-praise  or  over-blame  accordingly. 


XIV 


PREFACE 


The  second  is  that  he  is  apt  to  be  so  engrossed  in  the 
study  of  means  as  to  forget  the  aim  of  art ;  that  his 
point  of  view  is  too  exclusively  technical ;  and  that  he 
fails  to  estimate  the  final  value  of  a  work  of  art  to 
the  world,  because  he  is  so  busy  in  finding  out  how  its 
effect  is  produced. 

Now,  it  is  perfectly  true  that  many  artists  are 
violent  partisans,  and  even  that  a  certain  narrowness 
of  vision  may  add  to  their  efficiency  as  artists ;  but 
partisanship  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  actual 
combatants,  and  ignorance  is  no  guarantee  of  impar- 
tiality. The  artist  who  has  attained  to  any  degree  of 
eminence  in  his  art  knows  its  difficulties  well  enough 
to  respect  achievement  in  it  even  where  he  disap- 
proves the  direction  of  effort.  When  Ingres  com- 
plained of  the  smell  of  sulphur  left  behind  by  Dela- 
croix, the  implied  comparison  with  the  Devil  was  at 
least  not  a  contemptuous  one;  and  if  he  passed  by 
on  the  other  side  of  the  gallery,  when  he  met  Rubens, 
yet  he  took  off  his  hat.  In  my  own  experience  I 
have  never  found  any  artist  so  intolerant  of  others 
as  his  literary  backers  are  apt  to  be.  For  downright 
illiberality  there  is  nothing  like  a  writer  who  has 
picked  up  a  few  catchwords  from  a  coterie  of  artists 
he  specially  admires,  and  who  uses  these  as  a  yard- 
stick for  the  measurement  of  all  men,  ignorant  that 
there  can  be  any  other  standards  than  those  he  has 
learned  to  apply. 

That  an  artist  may  be  quite  as  broad-minded  in  his 


PREFACE  xv 

views  of  art  as  any  layman,  the  admirable  writings  of 
Fromentin  sufficiently  attest;  but  an  artist  of  less 
catholicity  of  judgment  than  he  may  yet  render  a 
real  service  to  criticism.  He  may  be  unjust  to  what 
he  dislikes,  but,  like  the  merest  layman,  he  "  knows 
what  he  likes  " ;  and,  unlike  the  layman,  he  knows  why 
he  likes  it.  If  he  is  honest — and  artists  are  as  likely 
to  be  honest  men  as  are  others — you  may  always  trust 
an  artist's  praise,  whatever  you  think  of  his  blame. 
The  qualities  he  praises  may  not  be,  in  a  larger  view, 
very  important  ones ;  and  he  may  be  quite  insensible 
of  other  and  higher  qualities ;  but  the  qualities  he 
praises  are  there.  That  he  sees,  for  instance,  nothing 
to  admire  in  Raphael,  merely  proves  his  own  partial 
blindness ;  but  if  he  admires  Tiepolo  it  is  because 
Tiepolo  is,  after  his  degree,  truly  admirable.  If  he 
can  help  you  to  see  the  admirableness  of  Tiepolo  the 
gain  is  yours ;  some  one  else  may  help  you  to  under- 
stand the  greatness  of  Raphael. 

And  it  is  by  reason  of  his  knowledge  of  technical 
matters — because  of  his  too  exclusive  devotion  to 
them,  even, — that  the  artist  can  give  you  this  help. 
The  technical  methods  and  the  technical  achievement 
of  a  master  are  not  the  only  things  of  importance 
about  him — perhaps  not  the  things  of  most  import- 
ance— but  they  are  important  things ;  and  these  im- 
portant things  no  one  can  explain  to  you  who  does 
not  practically  understand  them.  Any  one  may  know 
whether  a  dinner  is  good  or  bad — though  there  are 


xvi  PREFACE 

degrees  of  competence  even  here ;  it  is  only  a  cook  who 
can  tell  you  what  goes  into  the  sauce.  And,  in  the 
long  run,  the  technical  mastery  of  an  artist  is  the  best 
attainable  measure  of  his  greatness.  There  is  much 
more  to  Rembrandt  than  his  handling  of  paint  and 
acid — much  more  to  him,  even,  than  his  knowledge  of 
light  and  shade  or  his  mastery  of  expressive  drawing ; 
but  if  it  were  not  for  the  light  and  shade  and  the 
drawing,  the  paint  and  the  acid,  that  "  much  more  " 
would  be  unknown  to  us — without  his  technical  mas- 
tery his  genius  would  have  been  mute.  The  greatest 
artists  have  ever  been  the  greatest  technicians,  and  the 
successive  judgments  of  their  fellows  on  their  techni- 
cal achievement  is  what  has,  in  the  end,  fixed  their 
rank  in  the  hierarchy  of  art. 

More  than  this,  however,  the  technique  of  any  art 
is  not  merely  the  means  of  expressing  the  artist's 
thought — it  is  a  condition  precedent  to  the  thought 
itself.  The  thought  is  moulded  by,  and  grows  out  of, 
the  mode  of  expression ;  and  what  one  shall  endeavour 
to  say  is  predetermined  by  one's  knowledge  of,  and 
feeling  about,  the  means  of  saying  it.  The  union  of 
matter  and  manner  is  so  intimate,  the  reaction  of 
manner  on  matter  and  of  matter  on  manner  so  con- 
stant, that  it  is  hopeless  to  attempt  to  understand  the 
mind  of  an  artist  unless  you  measurably  understand 
his  processes.  The  mind  of  the  colourist  is  not  that 
of  the  draughtsman,  and  the  very  habit  of  hand — the 
mere  use  of  a  particular  tool — tinges,  as  it  expresses, 


PREFACE  xvii 

the  soul.    No  one  but  another  Titian  could  know,  with 
certainty,  the  meaning  of  Titian. 

What  really  prevents  many  artists  from  being  the 
most  effective  of  critics  is  not  their  bias,  which  is  no 
greater  than  that  of  others,  nor  their  interest  in  the 
technique  of  their  art,  which  is  an  element  of  strength, 
but  their  lack  of  the  technique  of  literature.  The  art 
of  expression  in  words,  like  other  arts,  has  its  limita- 
tions; and  the  writer,  like  the  painter,  must  often 
say  what  he  can  rather  than  what  he  would.  But  its 
limitations  are  different  for  different  persons,  and  are 
proportioned  to  natural  gifts  and  to  the  degree  of 
their  training.  That  a  man  with  a  natural  gift  for 
expression  in  lines  and  colours  should  have  an  equal 
gift  for  expression  in  words,  must  be  a  rare  oc- 
currence. That  a  man  who  has  spent  a  lifetime 
in  mastering  the  trade  of  a  painter  should  have  mas- 
tered the  trade  of  writing,  also,  as  thoroughly  as  one 
who  has  done  nothing  else,  must  be  still  rarer.  There 
are  many  artists  whose  judgment  of  a  picture  is  in- 
valuable, but  who  could  not  write  a  page  of  readable 
prose  if  their  lives  depended  on  it.  No  more  difficult 
task  can  be  laid  upon  any  art  than  the  translation  into 
its  own  terms  of  a  work  in  another  and  an  alien  art, 
and  the  literary  criticism  of  painting  demands  a  spe- 
cial mastery  of  words  and  a  special  flexibility  of  style 
which  are  not  commonly  to  be  found  among  profes- 
sional writers — still  less  among  those  to  whom  writing 
is  but  a  secondary  occupation.  Fortunately,  however, 


xviii  PREFACE 

all  our  schooling  is,  to  some  extent,  an  education  in 
literary  expression,  so  that  any  man  who  is  educated 
at  all  may,  without  hoping  for  consummate  mastery 
of  language,  expect  to  attain  some  degree  of  in- 
telligibility. When  to  clear  intellect,  catholicity  of 
judgment,  and  special  technical  knowledge,  is  added 
unusual  literary  power,  you  have  the  ideal  critic — 
the  man  born  to  interpret  the  artist  to  the  public. 
Such  an  one  was  Fromentin.  With  something  less 
than  his  literary  faculty  you  may  yet  get  much 
valuable  criticism,  as  in  the  letters  of  Millet  and  Dela- 
croix. From  almost  any  artist,  if  he  can  but  write 
plainly,  you  shall  hear  something  worth  listening  to. 
From  the  literary  genius  without  technical  knowledge 
you  get  words — words  brilliantly  coloured,  perhaps, 
and  deftly  arranged  in  wonderful  patterns — words 
which  form  themselves  into  a  work  of  art  and  thereby 
give  you  pleasure — but  nothing  serviceable  as  an 
interpretation  of  that  other  work  of  art  with  which 
they  deal. 

Believing,  on  these  grounds,  tjiat  the  special  train- 
ing of  a  painter  is  one  important  qualification  for  the 
criticism  of  art,  and  may,  by  its  presence,  partially 
offset  any  deficiency  in  other  most  desirable  qualifica- 
tions, I  have  ventured  to  publish  these  studies  of  a 
few  of  the  myriad  aspects  of  the  art  of  painting  and 
the  kindred  art  of  sculpture — these  attempted  ap- 
preciations of  a  few  out  of  the  many  ancient  and 
modern  masters  whose  achievements  form  the  history 


PREFACE  xix 

of  art.  All  of  them  have  appeared  in  print,  though 
all  of  them  have  been  subjected  to  some  revision  in 
preparation  for  the  present  volume.  The  essay 
on  Rembrandt  was  originally  delivered  as  an  address 
before  the  Brooklyn  Institute  of  Arts  and  Sciences, 
and  subsequently  before  other  bodies,  and  was  first 
printed  in  the  Architectural  Record.  As  it  was  de- 
sirable to  make  it  as  complete  as  possible,  within 
its  necessary  limit  of  length,  it  will  be  found  to 
contain  a  good  deal  that  parallels,  more  or  less 
closely,  parts  of  the  paper  on  that  master  in  my 
former  volume,  but  mingled  with  much  fresh  mat- 
ter; the  whole  constituting,  it  is  hoped,  a  more 
adequate  presentation  of  the  genius  of  one  of  the 
greatest  of  artists.  In  the  Architectural  Record 
appeared,  also,  the  essay  on  Rodin.  The  open- 
ing paper,  on  the  "  Education  of  an  Artist,"  is 
made  up  of  two  articles  from  the  "  Encyclopedia 
Americana."  The  essay  on  the  "  Painters  of  the 
Mode  "  first  appeared,  under  another  title,  in  Har- 
per's Bazar  for  August  and  September,  1905;  that 
on  Holbein  in  Scribner's  Magazine;  and  those  on  the 
Pollaiuoli  and  on  Lord  Leighton  in  The  Nation. 
My  thanks  are  due  the  publishers  of  all  these  periodi- 
cals for  their  kind  permission  to  use  the  articles 
here.  K.  C. 


I 

THE   EDUCATION  OF   AN  ARTIST 


Old  Masters  and  New 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  AN  ARTIST 

THE  education  of  a  painter  is  to-day  alto- 
gether different  from  what  it  was  in  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance,  and  this 
difference  is  largely  dependent  upon  a  different  con- 
ception of  the  social  status  of  the  artist.  In  the 
mediaeval  world  the  painter  was  a  craftsman,  like 
the  carpenter  or  the  smith.  The  individual  artist 
might  rise  to  some  eminence  and  consideration,  but 
as  an  artist  he  was  a  member  of  a  mechanical  trade 
which  no  one  would  have  thought  of  putting  on  a 
level  with  the  learned  professions.  To-day  the 
painter,  the  sculptor,  the  architect,  is  a  professional 
man,  like  the  lawyer  or  the  physician,  and  his  edu- 
cation is  planned,  as  nearly  as  possible,  on  the  lines 
of  theirs.  As  long  as  the  artist  was  considered  a 
tradesman  he  was  educated  like  a  tradesman,  that  is, 
by  apprenticeship  to  a  master  of  the  craft.  In  a 
modified  form  this  apprenticeship  system  was  in 
force  as  late  as  the  eighteenth  century,  but  its  char- 
acter can  best  be  understood  by  considering  it  as 
it  was  practised  in  the  fifteenth. 


4      THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

In  the  fifteenth  century,  then,  the  master  painter 
kept  a  shop,  a  bottega,  which  differed  in  no  essential 
particular  from  the  shop  of  any  other  tradesman, 
and  his  business  was  to  supply  anything  that  was 
wanted  in  the  way  of  painting,  from  the  ornamenta- 
tion of  a  chest  or  the  painting  of  a  sign  to  the 
production  of  an  altarpiece  or  the  frescoing  of  a 
palace  wall.  He  maintained  a  force  of  journeymen 
and  apprentices,  and  it  was  no  more  expected  that 
he  should  produce  with  his  own  hands  everything 
which  left  his  shop  than  it  was  expected  that  the 
master  joiner  should  saw  every  beam,  or  the  master 
mason  lay  every  stone.  To  such  a  master  a  boy 
who  showed  any  disposition  toward  art  was  bound 
out,  at  the  age  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  for  a  term  of 
years.  He  was  to  give  his  services  in  any  capacity 
in  which  they  were  available  and  a  sum  of  money 
was  paid  the  master,  who,  in  return  for  this  pre- 
mium and  service,  engaged  himself  tq  teach  the  boy 
his  trade.  The  apprentices  swept  out  the  shop,  ran 
errands,  waited  on  customers,  ground  colours,  pre- 
pared canvases  and  panels,  pricked  cartoons  and 
pounced  them  upon  the  wall,  set  the  palette  and 
cleaned  the  brushes  of  the  master.  At  odd  times 
they  copied  the  master's  studies,  and  always  they 
watched  his  methods  and  learned  how  he  did  things 
and  by  what  succession  of  processes  a  picture  was 
produced.  At  the  end  of  his  term  of  apprenticeship 
the  boy  had  learned  enough  to  be  useful  and  was 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST      5 

worth  a  wage.  He  became  a  journeyman,  and  was 
free  to  stay  with  his  master  or  to  engage  himself 
to  another.  At  this  stage  of  his  evolution  he  was 
intrusted  with  more  important  work,  painted  back- 
grounds or  draperies  from  the  master's  studies, 
made  studies  himself  for  the  less  important  parts  of 
pictures,  finally  painted  entire  pictures  himself  un- 
der the  master's  supervision  and  on  the  master's  ac- 
count— pictures  which  were  almost  indistinguishable 
from  the  master's  own  and  were  frequently  signed 
by  him  before  delivery  to  the  customer  who  had 
ordered  them. 

If  the  young  painter  were  unambitious  he  might 
remain  at  this  stage  all  his  life.  If  he  were  deter- 
mined to  be  a  master  in  his  turn  he  probably  travelled 
a  little  and  engaged  himself  to  this  or  that  more 
celebrated  master  that  he  might  study  other  methods 
than  those  he  had  learned,  pick  up  other  traditions, 
and  familiarise  himself  with  the  best  work  that  was 
being  done  in  his  art.  When  he  could  do  what  his 
masters  did  as  well  as  they  did  it,  and  hardly  until 
then,  he  was  ready  to  observe  nature  for  himself, 
to  allow  his  own  temperament  to  influence  his  work, 
to  become,  perhaps,  a  creator  and  an  innovator, 
and  to  teach  others  all  that  he  had  been  taught  and 
all  that  he  had  learned  for  himself,  so  that  they 
might  begin,  as  nearly  as  possible,  where  he  left  off. 

The  typical  education  of  a  modern  painter  is  as 
different  from  this  as  possible.  He  begins  his  special 


6      THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

education  later  than  did  the  mediaeval  painter,  hav- 
ing spent  some  years  in  ordinary  schooling ;  perhaps, 
even,  in  securing  a  college  training.  He  may  have 
done  a  little  desultory  drawing  during  this  time,  but, 
about  the  age  of  twenty  or  later,  he  decides  to  be- 
come a  painter  and  begins  his  serious  education  in 
art.  He  begins  it  not  as  an  apprentice,  but  as  a 
student ;  not  in  a  shop,  but  in  a  school.  If  the  school 
is  a  great  state  institution  or  one  connected  with  a 
university  it  will  afford  lectures  on  the  theory  and 
history  of  art,  to  which,  likely  enough,  he  will  pay 
little  attention.  It  will  be  in  a  great  city  where  he 
will  be  able  to  visit  museums  which  have  gathered 
together  the  art  of  many  ages  and  many  countries 
and  to  see  exhibitions  where  almost  as  many  methods 
of  work  are  exemplified  as  there  are  individual  exhibi- 
tors. Even  in  default  of  museums  and  exhibitions 
he  will  infallibly  have  access  to  many  cheap  publica- 
tions which,  by  some  of  the  applications  of  photog- 
raphy, will  give  him  a  fair  idea  of  the  results 
attained  by  the  art  of  the  past  and  the  present ;  of 
its  methods  he  will  know  nothing.  Meanwhile,  he  will 
be  set  down  before  a  plaster  cast  or  a  living  model 
and  bidden  to  draw.  He  will  be  more  or  less  thor- 
oughly grounded  in  anatomy  and  perspective  and 
other  sciences,  above  all  in  the  science  of  aspects, 
but  he  will  have  practically  no  instruction  whatever 
in  his  craft.  His  canvases  and  colours,  like  his 
brushes,  he  will  buy  ready-made.  His  master  he 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST      7 

will  see  twice  a  week,  for  a  few  minutes,  and  that 
master's  criticisms  will  be  directed  exclusively  to  the 
justness  of  his  observation  and  the  truth  of  his  ren- 
dering of  nature.  The  master's  own  work  will  be 
carried  on  in  another  place,  in  quiet  and  in  solitude, 
and  the  student  will  know  nothing  of  it  except,  now 
and  then,  to  see  the  completed  picture.  The  more 
intelligent  and  conscientious  the  master,  the  less 
likely  he  will  be  to  attempt  real  technical  instruction, 
for  he  will  feel  that  his  own  methods  are  tentative, 
suited  to  himself  alone,  and  of  doubtful  validity  or 
permanence,  while  he  will  be  hampered  by  our  modern 
respect  for  individuality  and  the  fear  of  destroying 
something  more  precious  than  anything  he  can 
supply. 

After  three  to  five  years'  work  on  this  system,  our 
student  will  be  able  to  draw  with  fair  accuracy  any- 
thing set  before  him,  to  distinguish  its  values,  even 
to  copy  its  colour  with  some  approximation  to  suc- 
cess. On  the  other  hand  he  will  have  exercised  little 
either  his  invention  or  his  memory,  will  be  entirely 
in  the  dark  as  to  what  he  wishes  to  do  with  his 
acquired  science,  and  will  have  practically  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  thousand  and  one  processes  that  go  to 
the  production  of  a  picture.  Likely  enough  he  will 
never  have  made  a  tracing  or  squared  up  a  sketch; 
almost  certainly  he  will  never  have  arranged  a  dra- 
pery ;  quite  certainly  he  will,  no  more  than  his  mas- 
ter, know  anything  of  the  proper  management  of 


8      THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

oil  colours,  of  the  use  of  vehicles,  or  of  the  compo- 
sition and  permanence  of  pigments.  For  a  time  he 
will  try  to  do  outside  the  school  what  he  has  always 
done  in  it,  and  will  be  surprised  that  no  one  cares 
for  the  result.  Then  it  will  perhaps  dawn  upon  him 
that  he  has  learned  a  science,  but  not  an  art ;  he  will 
flounder  and  experiment,  and,  if  he  is  a  man  of  force 
and  originality,  he  will  invent  an  art  of  his  own,  and 
methods  that  will  somehow  serve  his  needs.  If  he 
is  of  a  cool  and  logical  mind  he  will  recognise  that 
his  training  was  vastly  better  than  none,  and  will,  in 
default  of  a  better,  recommend  it  to  others  or  help 
to  give  it  to  them.  If  he  is  of  a  warm  and  emotional 
temper  he  will  condemn  it  as  useless  or  worse,  and 
tell  those  who  consult  him  to  get  along  without  it. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  results  of  these  two  educa- 
tions must  differ  as  greatly  as  the  conditions  which 
produced  them.  The  modern  painter  may  readily 
be  a  man  of  broader  culture  and  wider  outlook  than 
the  painter  of  the  Renaissance;  with  anything  like 
the  same  original  force  he  will  probably  be  a  more 
personal  and  individual  artist ;  he  will  certainly  know 
a  great  deal  about  the  aspects  of  nature  that  the  Re- 
naissance painter  never  dreamed  of.  Just  as  surely 
he  will  be  the  inferior  of  the  Renaissance  painter 
as  an  efficient  workman,  will  rarely  attain  complete 
mastery  of  his  tools,  and  will  try  to  substitute  the 
charm  of  his  personal  sentiment  and  his  individual 
view  of  nature  for  that  assured  Tightness  which 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST      9 

comes  of  an  accepted  body  of  traditions  and  the 
possession  of  tried  methods.  What  modern  art  has 
gained  in  variety  and  in  the  perception  of  new  truths 
it  has  lost  in  weight  and  coherence.  Each  artist 
works  in  his  own  way,  for  the  attainment  of  self- 
expression,  and  does  little  toward  the  building  up  of 
a  great  school. 

It  is  easier  to  see  the  weakness  of  modern  educa- 
tion in  painting  than  to  devise  a  remedy,  and  those 
who  are  most  opposed  to  the  modern  academic  sys- 
tem seldom  suggest  anything  to  take  its  place.  There 
are  many  reasons  why  the  old  apprenticeship  system 
could  hardly  be  revived.  There  are  such  multitudes 
of  students  to-day  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
find  masters  for  them,  and  our  masters  have,  in  gen- 
eral, nothing  for  apprentices  to  do.  They  are  no 
longer  at  the  head  of  great  workshops,  turning  out 
a  multiplicity  of  diverse  products.  Each  is  engaged 
in  a  more  or  less  narrow  specialty,  producing  work 
which  is  valuable  only  as  it  possesses  his  personal 
quality  and  exhibits  his  personal  touch,  and  his 
patrons  would  resent  the  intrusion  of  any  hand  but 
his  own  as  little  less  than  commercial  dishonesty.  The 
modern  student,  also,  knows  too  much  of  the  art  of 
all  times  and  countries  to  choose  a  single  master 
and  docilely  follow  his  teaching.  It  is  doubtful  if 
modern  conditions  have  not  rendered  forever  im- 
possible anything  like  a  local  school  of  painting. 

The  conditions  of  mural  painting  do,  indeed,  en- 


10    THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

tail  something  like  the  old  apprenticeship  system, 
and  in  the  growing  demand  for  the  decoration  of 
public  and  private  buildings  there  is  a  hope  for  the 
revival  of  older  methods  of  education.  It  is  recog- 
nised that  a  decorative  painter  may  properly  have  a 
corps  of  assistants,  and  while  these  assistants  are 
not  likely  to  be  mere  beginners,  but  will  already  have 
had  an  academic  training,  they  are  enabled  to  sup- 
plement it  with  the  practical  instruction  of  a  master 
in  the  methods  of  creating  a  work  of  art.  How  far  a 
similar  instruction  can  be  engrafted  on  our  academic 
system  is  the  problem  that  should  most  seriously 
occupy  the  directors  of  our  schools  of  art.  The 
rigid  discipline  in  drawing  and  painting  from  nature 
need  not  be  relaxed, — in  its  way  it  is  admirable  and 
should  be  strengthened  rather  than  weakened, — but 
it  should  be  pointed  out  that  the  ability  to  imitate 
form  and  colour  is  a  tool,  not  an  end,  and  that  the 
creation  of  a  work  of  art  is  something  different  from 
the  production  of  a  life-study.  The  student  should 
be  encouraged  to  train  his  imagination  and  his 
memory  as  well  as  his  eye,  and  it  would  be  well  if 
some  knowledge  of  technical  processes  could  be  con- 
veyed and  the  pupil  encouraged,  as  soon  as  he  is  at 
all  fit,  to  attempt  the  actual  creation  of  a  work  of 
art,  under  the  guidance  of  the  master.  Meanwhile 
it  should  be  insisted  upon  that  the  education  of  eye 
and  hand  can  hardly  begin  too  early,  if  technical 
mastery  is  to  be  attained,  and  that  we  must  be  willing 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST     11 

to  sacrifice  something  of  the  education  of  a  gentle- 
man to  the  education  of  a  painter. 

We  know  little  of  the  education  of  the  sculptor  in 
ancient  Greece,  and  can  only  guess  at  the  training 
which  produced  the  greatest  sculptors  the  world  has 
seen.  In  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance  edu- 
cation in  sculpture  proceeded  on  much  the  same  lines 
as  education  in  painting,  the  young  sculptor  enter- 
ing the  workshop  of  a  master  and  learning  thor- 
oughly all  the  mechanical  parts  of  the  trade  before  he 
attempted  anything  in  the  way  of  independent  study 
of  nature.  To-day  the  education  of  the  sculptor  is 
organised  in  the  same  way  as  that  of  the  painter,  and 
the  student  has  much  the  same  training  in  the  obser- 
vation of  nature,  and  much  the  same  lack  of  training 
in  the  essentials  of  art.  There  are,  however,  certain 
differences  between  the  conditions  under  which  sculp- 
ture and  painting  are  carried  on  in  modern  times 
which  seem  to  favour  the  education  of  competent 
craftsmen  in  sculpture.  The  mere  bulk  and  weight 
of  material  involved  in  the  creation  of  heroic  statues 
or  groups  makes  it  inevitable  that  the  sculptor 
should  have  some  assistance,  and  most  prominent 
sculptors  are  more  like  the  heads  of  mediaeval  shops 
than  are  almost  any  modern  painters.  Apart  from 
the  more  or  less  illegitimate  employment  of  what  are 
known  as  "  ghosts  "  (that  is,  artists,  often  of  more 
ability  than  the  employer,  who  actually  produce  the 
work  for  which  the  employer  secures  the  commission 


12    THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

and  appropriates  the  rewards),  a  sculptor  may  have 
a  corps  of  perfectly  legitimate  helpers  who  vary 
from  the  mere  studio  boy  or  the  caster  to  the  ac- 
complished modeller.  Many  young  sculptors  thus 
pass  through  the  studios  of  their  seniors  and  gain 
invaluable  experience  in  the  actual  production  of 
works  of  art  which  is  supplemented,  either  before  or 
afterward,  by  a  regular  school  education.  Such  a 
double  training  is  the  best  our  time  has  to  offer,  and 
is  certainly  far  better  than  either  an  apprenticeship 
or  a  term  of  study  in  an  art  school  taken  singly ;  but 
it  is  not  yet  an  ideal  training. 

The  technique  of  sculpture,  as  far  at  least  as 
regards  the  handling  of  the  clay  or  wax  model,  is 
an  infinitely  simpler  thing  than  that  of  painting. 
There  are  no  complicated  processes  to  master,  no 
questions  of  the  chemistry  of  pigments,  of  the  opti- 
cal effects  of  colours  on  each  other  or  of  the  different 
qualities  of  reflected  and  transmitted  light,  such  as 
are  involved  in  the  manipulation  of  paint.  Modelling 
is  a  matter  of  knowledge  of  form  and  facility  of 
hand,  and  both  the  knowledge  and  the  facility  might 
be  attained  as  readily  in  the  school  as  in  the  studio, 
for  there  is  so  much  rough  manual  labour  to  be  done 
in  a  sculptor's  studio  that  a  helper  might  work  there 
for  years  without  doing  much  real  modelling.  And 
the  technique  of  modelling  is,  after  all,  of  relatively 
little  importance ;  for  the  sculptor,  unlike  the  painter, 
puts  his  personal  handiwork  upon  a  thing  destined 


TOMB  OF  ANTONIO  AND  PIERO  POLLAIUOLO 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST     13 

to  be  destroyed  and  never  to  be  seen  by  the  public. 
He  works  in  clay  or  wax,  while  it  is  the  interpreta- 
tion of  his  work  in  marble  or  bronze  that  is  set  be- 
fore the  world,  so  that  he  is  almost  in  the  position 
of  the  draughtsman  upon  the  wood  block,  whose 
work  ceases  to  exist  and  is  replaced  by  that  of  an- 
other. The  sculptor  of  the  Renaissance  was  either 
a  stone  carver  or  a  bronze  founder  or  both,  and  the 
craft  he  practised  was  the  craft  of  carving  or  of 
metal  working,  the  modelling  being  only  a  prelimi- 
nary and  being  sometimes  dispensed  with  altogether. 
The  modern  sculptor  tends  to  become  a  modeller  and 
to  put  all  his  strength  into  the  clay,  the  final  carry- 
ing out  of  his  ideas  being  largely  intrusted  to  others ; 
and  his  knowledge  and  invention  count  for  much 
more  than  his  skill  of  hand,  while  the  worker  in  stone 
or  bronze  rarely  becomes  an  original  artist.  Of 
course  the  best  of  our  sculptors  do  not  only  control 
and  oversee  the  final  carrying  out  of  their  work, 
but  actually  put  hand  to  it  themselves,  at  times ; 
and  even  when  they  do  not  they  must  vary  the  man- 
ner of  modelling  they  employ  according  to  the  ma- 
terial of  the  definitive  work,  and  these  variations  of 
manner  they  will  teach  their  assistants.  Also  there 
is  a  great  deal  to  be  learned  in  a  sculptor's  work- 
shop hardly  likely  to  be  picked  up  elsewhere,  were  it 
only  the  mechanics  of  setting  up  great  armatures, 
the  processes  of  pointing  and  enlarging  small  models, 
and  the  rest.  Still  there  is  some  tendency  to  a  di- 


14    THE    EDUCATION    OF    AN    ARTIST 

vorce  between  the  original  artist  and  the  workman, 
and  it  is  difficult  for  the  modern  sculptor  to  become 
a  thorough  master  of  his  craft,  thinking  naturally 
in  stone  or  bronze  rather  than  in  clay. 

There  is  another  respect  in  which  the  education 
afforded  by  the  apprenticeship  of  the  Renaissance 
was  greatly  superior  to  that  obtainable  in  a  modern 
studio.  The  Renaissance  master  was  often  a  painter 
as  well  as  a  sculptor  and,  not  infrequently,  an  archi- 
tect as  well,  and  the  essential  unity  of  the  three  great 
arts  of  design  was  inevitably  impressed  upon  his  pu- 
pils. The  modern  sculptor  rarely  knows  anything 
of  painting  or  architecture,  and  his  studio  assistant 
has  little  opportunity  even  to  learn  drawing,  the 
foundation  of  all  the  arts.  If  he  would  learn  to  draw 
he  must  study  in  an  art  school,  and  he  is  generally 
encouraged  to  do  so  in  such  time  as  his  necessary 
work  leaves  at  his  own  disposal.  In  the  modern  art 
school  the  students  are  allowed,  or  even  required,  to 
change  from  class  to  class,  and  their  chance  of  ac- 
quiring some  notion  of  the  interdependence  of  the 
arts,  and  some  breadth  of  artistic  culture,  is  greater 
than  that  of  the  mere  studio  assistant.  Such  inter- 
change of  work  between  drawing  or  painting  and 
modelling  would  be  of  great  benefit  to  the  painter 
also,  if  he  more  often  took  advantage  of  it,  but  is 
hardly  as  essential  to  him  as  to  the  sculptor. 

In  some  measure,  then,  the  schools  offer  a  valuable 
supplement  to  the  training  of  the  studio,  but  they 
do  not  give  nearly  all  that  they  might  or  should  give. 


THE    EDUCATION    OF   AN    ARTIST    15 

Of  the  true  meaning  of  composition,  and  of  the  dif- 
ference between  artistic  expression  and  imitation,  the 
school,  at  its  best,  can  give  no  such  idea  as  can  the 
studio,  where  the  actual  production  of  a  work  of 
art,  through  all  its  stages,  may  be  watched.  Yet  the 
students  might  be  encouraged  and  aided  in  the  actual 
carrying  out  of  original  work,  taught  something  of 
the  difference  between  the  use  of  the  model  for  the 
attainment  of  a  predetermined  result  and  the  mere 
copying  of  a  set  pose,  and,  possibly,  instructed  in 
casting,  pointing,  marble  cutting,  and  even  bronze 
founding  and  chasing,  and  the  production  of  various 
patina?.  A  thorough  mastery  of  drawing  cannot  be 
too  much  insisted  upon.  Of  course  the  constant 
study  of  modelling  from  the  living  figure  would  con- 
tinue to  be  the  principal  element  of  training,  but  it 
would  be  well  if  some  study  of  drapery  and  costume 
could  be  added  to  it.  The  graduate  of  our  art 
schools,  either  painter  or  sculptor,  generally  knows 
little  or  nothing  of  the  arrangement  of  draperies,  and 
this  is  one  of  his  most  serious  deficiencies. 

Such  a  course  of  instruction  as  is  here  sketched 
has  been  attempted,  but  has  never  been  thoroughly 
worked  out  in  our  schools.  It  could  hardly  fail  to 
prepare  the  student  for  more  efficient  service  in  the 
studio  of  a  master  than  he  is  now  generally  able  to 
give,  and  to  enable  him  to  acquire  more  surely  and 
rapidly  that  practical  knowledge  of  real  work  which 
no  school,  however  managed,  can  supply. 


II 

THE    POLLAIUOLI 


EVER  since  Vasari  made  certain  demonstrable 
blunders  in  his  account  of  the  brothers 
Antonio  and  Piero  Pollaiuolo,  the  works 
of  Antonio  have  been  so  confused  with  those  of 
Piero,  and  both  with  the  works  of  others,  that  it 
was  apparently  reserved  for  Mr.  Berenson,  in  one 
of  the  chapters  of  his  monumental  work  on  "  The 
Drawings  of  the  Florentine  Painters,"  to  make  a 
beginning  in  disentangling  the  two  individualities, 
and  in  demonstrating  that  Antonio  was  a  great  art- 
ist and  his  younger  brother  little  more  than  a  not 
very  competent  assistant.  More  recently  Miss  Maud 
Crutwell  has  published  the  only  book  in  any  lan- 
guage devoted  to  Antonio  Pollaiuolo,  a  careful  and 
intelligent  study,  in  which  she  has  taken  up  the  task 
and  carried  it  into  greater  detail,  differing  with  Mr. 
Berenson  now  and  then  on  this  or  that  minor  matter, 
as  was  to  be  expected,  but  carrying  out  her  work  on 
the  large  lines  laid  down  by  him. 

A  not  unnatural  enthusiasm  for  her  subject  has, 
however,  led  Miss  Crutwell  into  an  exaggerated  esti- 
mate of  his  greatness  such  as  is  common  enough  in 
monographs  on  particular  artists.  However  care- 

19 


20  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

less  or  untrustworthy  as  to  matters  of  fact  Vasari 
may  have  been,  he  was  an  excellent  critic,  and  his 
praise  is  usually  both  intelligent  and  just.  His  esti- 
mate of  Antonio  is  nearly  perfect :  "  He  understood 
the  nude  in  a  more  modern  way  than  any  of  the 
masters  before  him.  .  .  .  He  was  the  first  to 
study  the  play  of  the  muscles  and  their  form  and 
order  in  the  body."  That  is  a  very  precise  definition 
of  the  quality  of  the  master.  He  was  a  man  of 
scientific  and  realistic  temper,  little  concerned  with 
beauty  or  sentiment,  interested  in  mastering  the 
human  figure  and  in  expressing  its  substance  and 
its  movement,  the  pathfinder  for  the  glorious  masters 
who  came  after  him.  As  such  he  is  a  man  of  very 
real  importance  in  the  history  of  art.  But  Miss  Crut- 
well  is  not  content  with  rating  him  as  one  who  "  under- 
stood the  nude  in  a  more  modern  way  than  any  before 
him  " ;  she  will  have  it  that  he  understood  it  better 
than  any  one  before  or  since.  "  Not  even  Signorelli 
nor  Michelangelo  have  equalled  him,"  she  says; 
certain  works  she  calls  "  worthy  of  the  sculptor 
of  the  Parthenon  reliefs  " ;  and  of  the  reliefs  on 
the  tomb  of  Sixtus  IV.  she  remarks :  "  Never  has 
the  female  nude  been  at  once  so  exquisitely  and 
so  scientifically  modelled,"  and  "  certainly  no  other 
sculptor  has  combined  so  exquisitely  its  possibilities 
of  grace  and  strength."  Her  text  is  full  of  allu- 
sions to  his  "  faultless  drawing,"  his  "  faultless  anat- 
omy," his  "  perfect  proportions."  Now  all  this  is, 


THE    POLLAIUOLI  21 

asking  pardon  for  the  rudeness  of  the  phrase,  ar- 
rant nonsense.  Antonio  Pollaiuolo  never  did  a 
faultless  figure  in  his  life,  nor  anything  like  one.  In 
drawing,  engraving,  painting,  sculpture,  he  pro- 
duced many  figures.  Energetic  they  are,  vital,  full 
of  force  and  movement  and  life,  but  faultless  is  what 
they  are  not.  They  are  rather  ungainly,  ill  propor- 
tioned, ugly.  Now  and  then  they  approach  beauty, 
but  now  and  then  only,  and  perfection  they  never 
touch. 

Such  incontinence  of  admiration  would  be  harm- 
less enough  were  it  not  that  it  has  led  Miss  Crutwell 
to  a  conception  of  the  relations  between  the  two 
brothers,  and  of  the  share  of  each  in  the  work  un- 
dertaken jointly  by  them,  which  is  quite  incredible. 
Ardently  admiring  Antonio,  and  having  little  but 
contempt  for  Piero,  she  must  needs  give  to  the  elder 
everything  of  good  in  their  joint  works,  and  to  the 
younger  everything  faulty.  So,  when  she  finds  the 
mirror  and  serpent  in  the  hands  of  the  "  Prudence  " 
of  the  Mercantanza  better  executed  than  the  figure, 
instead  of  reasoning,  as  Berenson  does  of  the  back- 
ground of  the  "  Annunciation,"  that  this  is  just  the 
kind  of  thing  an  inferior  man  could  execute  well, 
she  concludes  that  Antonio  painted  these  details  him- 
self. She  likes  the  landscape  backgrounds,  with  the 
Arno  winding  through  its  valley  and  under  the  walls 
of  Florence,  which  occur  in  many  of  the  pictures  of 
the  Pollaiuoli,  and  concludes  that  Antonio  painted 


22  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

these,  even  when  they  are  incidental  glimpses  through 
a  window  in  the  background  of  a  composition  show- 
ing, otherwise,  no  touch  of  his  hand.  She  has  reduced 
all  this  to  a  theory  and  propounds  it  categorically. 
"  He  seems  in  all  their  joint  work  to  have  reserved 
to  himself  only  such  parts  as  interested  him,"  and 
that  he  was  specially  interested  in  landscape  "  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that,  while  leaving  to  Piero  the 
principal  figures  in  his  pictures,  he  himself  painted 
with  the  care  of  a  miniaturist  the  background  scen- 
ery." We  are  asked,  in  a  word,  to  believe  that  the 
greatest  figure  draughtsman  of  his  age  (or,  as  we  are 
told,  of  any  age),  a  man  of  fiery  energy,  a  student  of 
anatomy,  who  dissected  many  cadavers  and  who 
valued  subjects  only  as  they  afforded  opportunity 
for  displaying  the  nude  in  violent  action,  a  goldsmith 
by  training,  a  sculptor  by  preference,  amused  him- 
self by  painting  "  with  the  care  of  a  miniaturist  "  bits 
of  landscape  between  the  legs  of  figures  drawn  by 
an  incompetent  younger  brother !  One  can  as  easily 
imagine  Michelangelo  doing  the  same  thing. 

Surely,  a  more  rational  theory  of  the  collabora- 
tion of  the  two  Pollaiuoli  than  this  must  be  attain- 
able. Without  pretending  to  the  perilous  honours  of 
modern  connoisseurship,  with  no  facilities  for  the 
proper  study  of  the  works  involved,  relying  only 
upon  the  data  afforded  by  Miss  Crutwell  herself  and 
by  Mr.  Berenson,  and  the  reproductions  published 
by  them,  I  am  tempted  to  suggest  an  alternative  hy- 


THE    POLLAIUOLI  23 

pothesis  which  may  be  worthy  of  investigation  by 
some  one  competent  for  the  task.  That  hypothesis 
is,  in  brief,  that  Piero  was  the  landscape  painter  of 
the  family,  that  the  characteristic  view  of  the  Val 
d'Arno  appears  only  in  works  in  which  he  had  a 
share,  and  that  it  is  uniformly  executed  by  him. 

There  is  certainly  no  inherent  improbability  in  the 
notion  that  the  inferior  figure-painter  should  be  the 
superior  in  landscape,  and  there  is  nothing  in  what 
we  know  of  the  character  of  the  two  brothers  to 
negative  the  supposition  that  the  placid  distances, 
which  contrast  so  strongly  with  the  savage  energy  of 
the  figures  in  front  of  them,  were  the  work  of  the 
weaker  and  milder  man.  Miss  Crutwell  dwells  upon 
the  striking  difference  in  type  of  the  portraits  upon 
their  tomb  in  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  comparing  An- 
tonio's head  to  those  of  Mantegna  and  Signorelli.  It 
reminds  one  of  that  of  Ingres  also,  with  its  great 
nose,  its  high  cheek  bones,  its  forcefulness,  and  its 
austerity;  and  it  reminds  one,  more  than  all,  as 
Mantegna  and  Ingres  often  do,  of  some  aged  Indian 
chief.  But  for  the  broken  nose  and  the  beard,  which 
disguise  the  resemblance,  Michelangelo  had  a  head 
of  the  same  family — the  typical  head  of  the  severe 
masters  of  form.  Piero's  is  as  different  as  possible 
— "  timid  and  fretful,"  Miss  Crutwell  calls  it,  "  with 
its  weak  mouth  and  vacillating  expression  " ;  mild, 
certainly,  and  somewhat  sentimental,  gentle,  and  with 
a  vague  brooding  about  the  eyes,  gazing  off  into  the 


24,  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

distance  with  a  dreamy  look  altogether  in  contrast 
with  Antonio's  concentrated  glance.  It  might  well 
be  the  head  of  some  modern  lover  of  nature  in  her 
sweeter  moods ;  it  could  never  be  the  head  of  a  great 
draughtsman. 

All  this  may  be  purely  fanciful,  however,  and 
proves  nothing.  Let  us  consider  some  concrete  facts. 
And  first,  note  the  almost  entire  absence  of  distance, 
or  even  of  what  may  be  called  a  background,  in  the 
works  that  are  accepted  as  entirely  by  Antonio's  own 
hand  and  as  most  characteristic  of  his  genius.  The 
frescoes  of  the  Villa  della  Gallina,  in  the  grounds  of 
the  Torre  del  Gallo,  Arcetri,  near  Florence,  are  much 
dilapidated  and  repainted,  but  they  seem  never  to 
have  had  anything  but  a  flat  tone  behind  the  figures, 
which  detach  themselves  against  it  in  a  pattern  of 
nude  forms  much  as  an  antique  sculptor  would  have 
designed  a  frieze.  Such  is  the  treatment,  also,  of 
the  drawing  in  the  British  Museum  of  a  "  Prisoner 
Brought  before  a  Judge,"  the  figures  in  almost  pure 
outline,  relieved  against  a  flat  wash  which  represents 
nothing — the  plane  surface  of  the  sculptor  in  re- 
lief. In  the  "  Battle  of  Ten  Nudes  "  we  see  the  gold- 
smith, the  ornamentalist,  the  worker  in  niello,  rather 
than  the  sculptor.  The  background  is  a  closely  in- 
terwoven thicket  of  trees  and  vines  treated  in  a 
wholly  conventional  manner,  a  piece  of  intricate  dec- 
oration rather  than  a  representation  of  nature;  and 
the  whole  plate  is,  with  evident  intention,  kept  en- 


ANTONIO   POLLAIUOLO:    "FRESCOES  FROM  VILLA  GALLETTI  " 


ANTONIO   POLLAIUOLO:        FIGURE   FROM    FRESCO    OF    VILLA 
GALLETTI " 


THE    POLLAIUOLI  25 

tirely  flat  and  without  suggestion  of  distance.  This 
is  Antonio's  method  when  he  is  entirely  free  to  do 
as  he  chooses — to  leave  the  background  out  entirely 
or  to  make  of  it  a  mere  pattern.  When  he  has  to 
tell  a  story  he  must  give  it  a  setting,  and  his  designs 
for  embroidery,  where  Piero  probably  assisted  him, 
have  glimpses  of  landscape,  rigidly  subordinated, 
however,  to  the  figures.  Whenever  it  is  at  all  possi- 
ble, he  substitutes  architecture  for  landscape,  and 
treats  it  in  a  very  formal  way."  So,  in  the  relief  for 
the  silver  altar,  there  is  the  necessary  architectural 
setting  in  the  tradition  of  Ghiberti,  though  he  seems 
never  to  have  attemped  landscape  in  bronze  as  Ghi- 
berti did;  but  in  his  most  mature  and  most  magnifi- 
cent work,  the  tombs  of  Sixtus  IV.  and  Innocent 
VIII.,  he  returns  to  the  purely  sculpturesque  tradi- 
tion, and  his  reliefs  have  no  perspective  and  no  dis- 
tance. Only  something  rudely  symbolical  of  rocks 
suggests  that  some  of  the  figures  are  supposed  to  be 
out  of  doors. 

Of  the  paintings  attributed  to  Antonio  alone,  two 
are  supposed  by  Miss  Crutwell  to  be  so  early  as  to 
exclude  Piero's  collaboration,  the  "  David "  of  the 
Berlin  Museum  and  the  "  Apollo  and  Daphne "  of 
the  National  Gallery.  If  the  latter  is  really  as  early 
as  she  thinks  it,  our  suggestion  is  disproved.  But 
the  "  David,"  striding  over  the  head  of  Goliath,  is 
painted  "  against  a  slate-grey  wall."  The  earliest 
picture  in  which  she  recognises,  as  does  every  one, 


26  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

the  hand  of  Piero,  is  the  "  Sts.  James,  Vincent,  and 
Eustace,"  painted  in  1466.  when  he  was  about  twenty- 
three  years  old.  Two  of  the  figures  certainly,  all  of 
them  possibly,  are  partly  or  entirely  by  Piero.  Be- 
tween them  are  narrow  strips  of  landscape,  a  few 
inches  wide,  the  characteristic  Pollaiuolo  landscape 
with  its  winding  stream.  We  meet  it  constantly 
after  this,  nowhere  more  characterised  than  in  the 
glimpse  of  distance  seen  through  the  window  behind 
the  "  Annunciation,"  a  picture  in  which  not  even  Miss 
Crutwell  finds  any  other  trace  of  Antonio's  hand.  The 
"  St.  Mary  of  Egypt,"  however,  at  Staggio,  which 
she  believes  to  be  entirely  by  Antonio,  has  a  different 
style — a  rocky  cave  as  purely  symbolical  and  anti- 
natural  as  a  background  of  Giotto's.  It  is  true  that 
there  seems  to  be  a  bit  of  distance,  in  the  left  hand 
lower  corner,  which  resembles  the  Val  d'Arno  land- 
scape we  are  familiar  with,  but  less  well  done  than 
usual — if  Antonio  was  indeed  dispensing  with  his 
brother's  assistance  on  this  occasion,  he  may  have 
done  it  carelessly  himself. 

But  the  crux  of  the  argument  is  to  be  found  in 
the  two  little  pictures  of  "  Hercules  and  the  Hydra  " 
and  "  Hercules  and  Antaeus,"  now  in  the  Uffizi,  and 
their  relation  to  the  large  pictures  of  the  same  sub- 
jects known  to  have  been  painted  for  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici  in  1460  by  Antonio,  with  the  assistance  of 
Piero,  then  a  youth  of  seventeen.  The  small  panels 
are  considered  by  Berenson  to  be  preliminary  studies 


a-     O 


I  > 

(D  — . 

X  W 

o  O 


I  2 

§  a 


THE    POLLAIUOLI  27 

for  the  large  pictures,  but  Miss  Crutwell  argues, 
very  successfully,  that  they  are  independent  versions, 
thinking  it  likely,  however,  that  they  were  painted 
"  about  the  same  time  " ;  and  she  goes  on :  "  They  be- 
longed to  the  Medici  collection,  probably  to  Lorenzo 
himself,  and  it  may  be  that  he  valued  them  so  highly 
as  to  order  them  to  be  copied  on  a  larger  scale." 
In  either  view  the  little  panels  would  be  earlier  than 
the  lost  pictures  with  which  they  are  connected.  Why 
should  they  not  be  later,  free  replicas  made  for  some 
other  member  of  the  Medici  family  from  the  large 
canvases  belonging  to  Lorenzo?  Miss  Crutwell's  ar- 
guments for  the  independent  nature  of  the  smaller 
pictures  seem  to  point  to  this  conclusion,  although 
she  does  not  draw  it.  Her  reasons  are  these. 

Among  the  engravings  of  Robetta  are  two,  of  the 
Labours  of  Hercules,  which  have  been  generally  ac- 
cepted as  copies  of  the  small  panels,  but  which  differ 
from  them  in  many  points,  and  which  seem  likely  to 
be  copies  of  the  lost  pictures,  as  Robetta  would  be 
unlikely  to  make  such  grave  changes  himself,  or  vari- 
ations so  much  in  the  manner  of  Antonio's  own  work. 
In  the  "  Antaeus  "  there  is  a  strange  figure  of  a  child 
which  has  no  apparent  reason  for  being  there/  and 
which  we  can  hardly  conceive  of  as  added  by  a  copy- 
ist. The  figure  of  Antaeus  himself  is  awkwardly  ar- 
ranged, without  any  foreshortening  of  the  limbs,  and 
is  altogether  more  primitive  in  manner  than  in  the 
little  panel.  In  the  "  Combat  with  the  Hydra  "  there 


28  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

are  also  several  variations,  notably  in  the  pose  of 
Hercules's  left  hand  (which  does  not  grasp  the  Hy- 
dra's neck,  but  is  only  stretched  out  toward  it),  in 
the  less  happy  composition  of  the  lion-skin,  and  in 
the  drawing  of  the  Hydra  itself;  and  most  of  these 
differences  are  supported  by  an  old  drawing  in  the 
Louvre  and  by  Antonio's  own  sketch  in  the  British 
Museum.  What  Miss  Crutwell  does  not  note  is  that 
the  pose  of  the  left  hand  in  the  engraving,  bent  back 
upon  the  wrist  in  a  peculiar  manner,  is  unlike  either 
the  sketch  or  the  painting,  yet  is  strikingly  char- 
acteristic of  Antonio,  occurring  in  his  drawing  of 
"  Adam  "  in  the  Uffizi,  in  two  of  the  figures  in  the 
"  Prisoner  Brought  before  a  Judge,"  and  in  the 
Torre  del  Greco  frescoes.  But  all  these  differences 
are  slight  compared  to  those  in  the  backgrounds.  In 
the  little  pictures  the  figures  are  posed,  in  the  char- 
acteristic Pollaiuolesque  way,  upon  a  foreground 
eminence,  with  no  middle  distance,  and  loom  large 
against  a  distant  landscape  with  a  winding  stream, 
upon  which  we  look  down  as  from  a  height.  In  the 
engravings  everything  is  different — there  is  nothing 
but  shapeless,  dumpling-like  masses  of  rock,  piled 
so  high,  in  the  "  Combat  with  the  Hydra,"  as  utterly 
to  dwarf  the  figure,  and  pierced  with  a  cave  some- 
what resembling  that  of  "  St.  Mary  of  Egypt." 

All  of  these  differences  are  in  favour  of  the  smaller 
pictures  as  the  more  mature  and  well-consid.ered 
works,  but  this  is  especially  true  of  the  difference  of 


ANTONIO  POLLAIUOLO:       HERCULES  SLAYING  THE   HYDRA 


THE    POLLAIUOLI  29 

background.  It  is  inconceivable  that  the  painter  who 
had  once  made  his  figures  tower  against  the  distance 
as  these  do  should  afterward  substitute  the  clumsy 
lumpiness  which  stands  for  the  earth  in  the  engrav- 
ings. Mj  supposition  is  that  the  small  panels  were 
painted  some  few  years  after  the  large  pictures,  and 
that  the  figures  were  revised  and  improved  by  An- 
tonio himself.  In  the  backgrounds  he  let  Piero,  who 
had  already,  as  we  know,  some  slight  share  in  the 
larger  works,  try  his  hand,  and,  being  pleased  with 
the  result,  called  him  in  thereafter  when  landscape 
was  to  be  treated,  though  he  did  without  landscape 
when  he  could.  The  background  of  the  "  Hercules 
and  Antaeus  "  would  thus  be  probably  the  earliest  of 
Piero's  attempts  at  the  painting  of  distant  landscape, 
that  of  the  "  Hercules  and  the  Hydra  "  being  already 
somewhat  more  mature,  though  neither  of  them  is 
equal  to  what  he  afterwards  did  in  pictures  other- 
wise very  inferior. 

One  difference  between  the  two  versions  of  the  lat- 
ter subject  remains  to  be  noted.  In  the  engraving, 
as  in  -Antonio's  sketch,  the  club  of  Hercules  "  breaks 
out  in  flame,"  as  Miss  Crutwell,  following  Mr.  Beren- 
son,  expresses  it — in  other  words,  he  wields  the  burn- 
ing brand  with  which  it  was  necessary  to  sear  the 
Hydra's  severed  necks  to  prevent  the  heads  from 
growing  out  again.  Was  it  from  negligence,  or  as 
a  concession  to  the  common  notion  of  Hercules,  that, 
in  the  smaller  version,  this  detail  was  omitted  and  a 


SO  THE    POLLAIUOLI 

plain  club  substituted  for  the  flaming  one?  Prob- 
ably enough,  the  same  instinct  for  greater  intensity 
of  action  which  led  Antonio  to  substitute  the  grasp- 
ing hand  for  the  merely  gesturing  one  suggested  a 
direct  attack  upon  a  living  head  as  more  poignant 
than  the  earlier  motive,  and  he  abandoned  the  illus- 
trator's faithfulness  to  the  story  for  the  sake  of  a 
heightened  display  of  energy.  A  similar  intensifica- 
tion of  emotion  is  shown  in  the  way  the  Hydra's 
tail  and  paw  clasp  the  leg  of  Hercules.  It  is  such 
things  that  make  the  tiny  picture  the  marvel  of 
concentrated  fury  that  it  is. 


Ill 

PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

IT  is  now  many  years  ago  that  my  indignation 
was  stirred  by  the  sneer  of  a  well-known  critic 
at  the  late  Alfred  Stevens,  as  a  mere  painter 
of  feminine  frivolity  and  fashionable  clothes;  and 
one  constantly  hears  the  same  kind  of  criticism  from 
those  who  judge  of  the  value  of  a  work  of  art  by 
its  subject  rather  than  by  its  excellence.  The  truth 
is,  that  since  there  has  been  any  art  in  the  world 
many  of  the  greatest  artists  have  devoted  their  tal- 
ents to  the  painting  of  beautiful  women  in  the  fash- 
ionable toilettes  of  the  time,  and  that  a  history  of  the 
mode  might  be  written  which  should  be  illustrated 
entirely  by  acknowledged  masterpieces  of  art.  When 
art  has  been  really  living  it  has  occupied  itself  with 
the  life  of  its  own  time ;  and  as  painters  are  no  more 
than  human  they  have  generally  found  that  the 
women  of  their  time  were  a  very  considerable  part  of 
that  life.  They  have  liked  them  beautiful  according 
to  the  taste  of  the  moment,  and  they  have  liked 
them  none  the  less  for  being  well  dressed.  We 
know  the  ideal  of  feminine  elegance  in  all  ages  of 
the  world,  and  in  all  countries  under  the  sun,  from 
the  records  left  us  by  the  artists,  and  are  informed 

33 


34  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

as  to  the  necklace  of  Pharaoh's  daughter  and  the 
hairpins  of  the  ladies  of  Japan.  Even  the  monkish 
illuminators  of  the  Middle  Ages  show  the  universal 
interest  in  head-dresses  and  stomachers,  and  can 
conceive  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  no  otherwise  than  as 
resembling  the  prettiest  duchess  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

As  the  "  classical "  ideal  is  founded  on  the  art  of 
the  Greeks  and  Romans,  we  are  apt  to  forget  that 
their  art  was  not  classic  to  them,  but  entirely  local 
and  contemporary,  and  that  what  we  think  of  as 
"  drapery,"  as  distinguished  from  costume,  was  sim- 
ply the  costume  worn  by  the  ladies  of  Greece  and 
Rome.  That  that  costume  was  simple  and  noble  was 
the  artists'  good  fortune  and  ours,  but  that  even  it 
could  be  coquettish  and  fascinating,  as  well  as  grand 
and  austere,  the  figurines  of  Tanagra  may  remind 
us.  Women  were  women  even  then,  and  devoted  time 
and  thought  to  the  toilet,  and  artists  were  men,  and 
found  the  result  delightful.  But  the  interest  of  art- 
ists in  contemporary  fashion  has  not  been  confined 
to  those  epochs  when  the  fashions  were  intrinsically 
beautiful,  or  to  the  times  when  they  themselves  were 
naively  ignorant  of  any  other  dress  than  that  worn 
by  their  fair  contemporaries.  No  matter  how  ex- 
treme the  monstrosity  of  the  mode  might  be  at  a 
given  moment,  there  have  been  painters  to  find  a 
beauty  in  it;  and  when  art  has  been  most  pompous 
and  academical  there  have  been,  fortunately  for  us, 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  35 

portraits  to  be  painted  and  pretty  ladies  who  have 
wished  their  clothes  immortalised  with  their  faces. 
The  gravest  artists  have  seldom  been  able  to  resist 
them,  and  the  most  learned  have  occasionally  painted 
the  laces  and  ribbons  of  a  living  beauty  with  all  the 
particularly  of  a  Gothic  miniaturist. 

In  the  present  essay  I  shall  not  go  further  back 
than  the  fifteenth  century.  I  shall  neglect  the  art 
that  could  not  help  being  classic,  and  the  art  of  the 
ages  of  innocence  that  could  not  be  classic  from 
lack  of  knowledge,  and  I  shall  take  up  the  art  of  the 
Renaissance  at  the  moment  preceding  its  culmination, 
and  trace  it  down  the  centuries  to  our  own  day,  en- 
deavouring to  show  how  the  greatest  masters  have  de- 
voted their  strength,  habitually  or  occasionally,  to 
the  illustration  of  feminine  fashions. 

We  cannot  do  better  than  begin  with  the  teacher 
of  Michelangelo,  an  artist  considered  the  first  in 
Florence  in  his  day,  yet  who  has  not  escaped  the  kind 
of  criticism  which  has  been  visited  upon  Alfred 
Stevens.  When  Domenico  Ghirlandaio  was  commis- 
sioned, toward  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  to 
decorate  the  choir  of  Santa  Maria  Novella  with 
frescoes  illustrating  the  lives  of  the  Virgin  and  John 
the  Baptist,  he  seems  to  have  found  that  the  simple 
incidents  to  be  represented  left  a  good  deal  of  space 
unoccupied;  and  this  space  he  filled,  much  as  Vero- 
nese would  have  done  a  hundred  years  later,  with 
such  accessory  figures  as  pleased  him  and  would 


36  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

make  a  fine  effect.  He  was  a  simple  sort  of  painter- 
man,  who  found  nothing  more  interesting  than  the 
people  he  knew,  and  he  thought  it  likely  that  the 
people  of  Bible  times  had  friends  and  neighbours  who 
might  drop  in  on  important  occasions,  much  as  they 
did  in  Florence.  So  his  great  pictures  are  filled  with 
portraits  of  the  men  and  women  of  his  day,  and  many 
of  these  have  been  identified  and  are  very  interesting 
to  us,  as  they  were  to  him.  Among  them  he  painted 
some  of  the  most  famous  beauties  of  the  time,  so 
that  we  can  see  just  what  was  the  type  of  beauty 
most  admired,  then,  in  Florence,  and  just  how  these 
Florentine  ladies  dressed.  There  is  a  whole  bevy  of 
them  in  "  The  Visitation,"  and  another  in  "  The  Birth 
of  the  Virgin,"  the  foremost  of  whom,  in  gold  bro- 
cade, is  supposed  to  be  Lodovica,  daughter  of  Gio- 
vanni Tornabuoni,  who  ordered  the  paintings  and 
never  entirely  paid  for  them.  In  "  The  Birth  of 
John  the  Baptist "  one  lady  holds  out  her  arms  to 
take  the  baby  from  the  nurse,  while  others  are  enter- 
ing to  bring  gifts  and  congratulations  to  the  mother. 
Most  conspicuous  among  them  is  Giovanna  degli 
Albizzi,  married  on  June  16,  1486,  to  Giovanni's  son, 
Lorenzo.  She  stands  there,  rather  prim  and  a  little 
conscious  of  her  best  gown,  frankly  posing  for  her 
portrait  and  looking  out  of  the  picture  at  the  spec- 
tator. This  same  Giovanna  is  one  of  the  attendants 
of  St.  Elizabeth  in  "  The  Visitation,"  and  she  was 
painted  by  Botticelli  also,  who  makes  her  even  more 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  37 

charming  than  she  is  here,  in  his  delightful  frescoes 
of  the  Villa  Lemmi  now  in  the  Louvre. 

The  Florentines  of  the  fifteenth  century  loved  an 
intellectual  and  ethereal  type  of  beauty.  All  these 
ladies  are  tall  and  slender,  and  they  wear  close 
sleeves,  puffed  at  the  elbow,  which  show  the  thinness 
of  their  arms,  and  short  cuffs  which  make  the  hands 
look  long;  short  waists  with  flat  corsage;  and  stiff, 
straight  skirts  which  exaggerate  the  apparent  height 
of  the  figure.  If  Giovanna's  forehead  is  not  shaved 
almost  to  the  crown,  as  it  would  have  been  a  few 
years  earlier,  it  is  yet  "  high,  serene,  and  shining,"  as 
the  taste  of  the  day  demanded  it ;  her  nose  is  long, 
fine,  straight,  slightly  tip-tilted;  her  mouth  small; 
her  chin  rather  pointed  and  kittenish.  The  extreme 
of  the  type  may  be  seen  in  certain  portraits,  vari- 
ously attributed  to  Piero  della  Francesca,  Antonio 
Pollaiuolo,  or  Verrocchio,  notably  one  of  the  Poldo- 
Pezzoli  museum  at  Milan,  and  in  the  strange  portrait 
at  Chantilly  of  Simonetta  the  beautiful,  who  "  was 
so  sweet  and  charming  that  all  men  praised  her  and 
no  woman  envied  her."  Piero  di  Cosimo  has  painted 
her  for  us  (who  knows  from  what  drawing  or  medal, 
for  he  was  but  fourteen  when  she  died),  her  golden, 
jewel-wreathed  hair  covering  little  more  than  half 
her  head,  a  serpent  twined  with  the  necklace  around 
her  slender  throat,  her  fragile  bust  and  meagre 
shoulders  bare.  It  may  not  be  an  authentic  portrait, 
but  it  is  all  the  more  certainly  a  representation  of  the 


38  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

contemporary  ideal  of  beauty — a  beauty  that  went 
early  into  a  decline,  and  died  young. 

Of  the  great  trio  who  glorified  the  next  generation 
of  Italian  artists  one  was  a  delineator  of  men  rather 
than  of  women,  of  the  nude  rather  than  of  the  draped 
figure,  a  sculptor  rather  than  a  painter.  Michel- 
angelo stands  alone,  almost  the  only  great  artist  who 
never  painted  a  portrait,  and  from  whom  one  can 
learn  nothing  of  the  aspect  of  his  time,  whatever  one 
may  learn  of  its  soul;  it  is  different  with  the  other 
two.  Leonardo,  scientist,  engineer,  architect,  sculp- 
tor, as  well  as  painter — the  most  profound  mind  of 
the  Renaissance,  and  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
minds  the  world  has  ever  known — was  enamoured  of 
the  smile  of  woman  and  thought  four  years  not  ill- 
spent  in  the  effort  to  fix  the  fleeting  expression  of 
La  Gioconda  as  she  listened  to  the  music  he  had  pro- 
vided for  her.  The  master  of  composition  who  de- 
signed the  solemn  "  Last  Supper  "  at  Milan,  the  lover 
of  furious  action  who  drew  "  The  Battle  of  the  Stand- 
ard," the  sculptor  of  the  Sforza  statue,  lives  for  us, 
after  all,  in  a  few  ineffably  smiling  female  heads,  and 
several  of  these  are  portraits.  One  of  them — for 
surely,  whatever  the  experts  may  say,  she  is  his — 
is  that  unknown  Italian  lady  whom  tradition  has 
wrongly  identified  with  the  wife  of  the  French  advo- 
cate Feron,  and  who  is  therefore  known  to  us  as  "  La 
Belle  Feronniere."  Who  but  the  painter  of  Mona 
Lisa  made  these  unfathomable  eyes  to  smile  above 


LEONARDO:      LA  BELLE  FERONNIERE 


39 

the  smileless  mouth?  What  hand  but  that  which 
played  in  the  intricate  braidings  of  Leda's  hair 
traced  with  such  exquisite  care  each  loop  and  bow  of 
this  costume?  Only  a  few  years  have  passed,  but 
the  Renaissance  has  grown  riper,  and  though  Leo- 
nardo's women  have  intellect  enough,  they  have 
healthy  bodies  too.  The  forehead  is  broad  rather 
than  high,  and  its  height  is  diminished  to  the  eye 
by  the  placing  of  the  jewel  upon  it;  the  cheek  is 
rounded,  the  chin  and  jaw  are  firm,  the  throat  is  full 
and  columnar  and  not  too  long,  the  bust  grandly 
arched,  though  small.  It  is  "  a  perfect  woman,  nobly 
planned,"  and  the  physical  completeness  is  accentu- 
ated by  the  close  and  modest  coiffure  which  makes 
the  head  seem  small  and  dainty  in  spite  of  its  well- 
rounded  development.  For  just  balance  of  all  bodily 
and  mental  perfections,  combined  with  mysterious 
and  illusive  charm,  Leonardo's  feminine  ideal  is 
perhaps  the  finest  of  any. 

Raphael,  the  greatest  of  decorative  designers,  was 
also  one  of  the  greatest  of  portrait-painters,  and  he 
was  so  pre-eminently  the  painter  of  the  beauty  of 
women  that  his  Madonnas  have  become  the  ideal  of 
female  loveliness  for  the  whole  Western  world,  and 
we  can  scarcely  imagine  abstract  beauty  otherwise 
than  as  he  pictured  it.  One  does  not  think  of  his 
women  as  having  much  intellect,  but  they  have  infinite 
sweetness  and  tenderness  of  sentiment.  They  are 
healthy,  happy,  virtuous  wives  and  mothers,  loving 


40  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

and  pure,  and  they  grow  constantly  in  physical  ripe- 
ness until  the  noblest  of  them,  with  all  their  gracious 
softness,  have  almost  the  splendour  of  the  goddesses 
of  Greece — almost  the  majesty  of  the  sibyls  of 
Michelangelo.  These  are  the  women  that  he  painted 
from  "  a  certain  ideal  that  was  in  his  mind,"  but  he 
also  painted  certain  ladies  as  they  were  in  the  flesh, 
the  "  Donna  Velata,"  for  instance — that  "  veiled 
lady  "  whose  name  and  rank  are  also  veiled  from  us, 
but  who  was  far  above  him,  and  whom  he  loved  to 
his  dying  day — and  Joanna  of  Aragon,  who  is  inter- 
esting to  us  because  we  know  who  she  was  and  what 
her  contemporaries  thought  of  her.  The  portrait 
of  Joanna,  in  her  red  dress,  is  not  so  fine  as  that  of 
the  beloved — perhaps  Raphael  let  his  pupils  paint  it 
as  he  let  one  of  them  make  the  drawing  for  it, — but 
in  both  pictures  there  is  the  carefulness  of  each  detail 
of  costume  which  the  master's  conscious  and  almost 
academic  art  had  banished  from  his  more  important 
works. 

The  wife  of  the  Viceroy  of  Naples  was  the  most  re- 
nowned beauty  of  her  day,  "  celestial  and  almost 
divine,"  and  treatises  on  beauty  were  written  ex- 
pressly to  prove  her  the  most  beautiful  of  all  women. 
As  late  as  1551,  more  than  thirty  years  after  the 
latest  date  at  which  this  portrait  can  have  been 
painted,  a  solemn  council  was  held  in  Venice  to  conse- 
crate officially  her  beauty,  and  to  erect  a  temple  in  her 
honour.  A  handsome  woman  she  certainly  is  as  she 


RAPHAEL:      JOANNA  OF  ARAGON 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  41 

sits  forever  before  us  in  the  portrait  in  the  Louvre, 
though  perhaps  a  trifle  insipid  in  expression.  The 
eyebrows,  which  were  almost  wanting  with  Verrocchio 
and  Ghirlandaio,  which  were  nearly  .horizontal  with 
Leonardo,  are  elevated  into  two  sharply  marked  and 
questioning  arches  which  give  a  singular  air  of  in- 
nocence to  the  physiognomy.  Of  the  robe  not  an  item 
is  neglected  that  can  help  us  to  know  what  was  the 
supreme  type  of  elegance  of  the  early  sixteenth 
century. 

Michelangelo  might  disdain  everything  but  the 
nude  human  figure ;  Raphael  might  invent  a  drapery 
in  "  the  grand  style  "  vaguely  reminiscent  of  antique 
sculpture;  but  whatever  might  be  their  nominal  sub- 
ject, the  Venetians  never  painted  anything  but 
Venice.  If  to  occupy  oneself  with  the  living  beauties 
of  one's  own  time  and  country,  and  to  represent 
them  in  the  clothes  they  actually  wear,  is  to  be  frivo- 
lous, then  all  Venetian  art  was  deeply  tinged  with  fri- 
volity. This  is  as  true  of  Carpaccio  at  the  end  of 
the  fifteenth  century  as  of  Veronese  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth.  His  altar-pieces  are  somewhat  conven- 
tional, and  the  Virgin  is  with  him,  as  she  remained 
even  in  Veronese's  day,  a  trifle  Byzantine.  It  is  in 
his  series  of  pictures  of  the  Life  of  St.  Ursula  that 
Carpaccio  shows  us  the  art  he  really  delighted  in, 
and  it  is  nothing  else  than  the  painting  in  all  its 
splendour  and  brilliancy  of  the  life  around  him — the 
life  of  the  richest  and  most  magnificent  city  of 


42  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

Europe.  He  is  quite  naif  and  simple  about  it,  has 
little  science  of  composition,  or  knowledge  of  draw- 
ing— has  no  astonishing  talent  as  a  painter,  even — 
only  a  love  for  life  and  a  joy  in  setting  down  some 
image  of  the  things  he  sees.  He  likes  a  romantic 
story,  and  above  all  he  likes  men  and  women  and  the 
clothes  they  wear.  Each  picture  is  a  whole  book  of 
fashion-plates  with  so  many  figures  that  I  have  had 
to  select  a  part  of  one  only,  for  reproduction.  As 
for  his  women,  they  have  none  of  the  intellectuality 
or  lack  of  physical  stamina  of  their  Florentine  sis- 
ters. They  are  wholesome,  well-set-up  persons,  tran- 
quil and  rather  stupid,  one  imagines,  living  the 
indolent  life  of  the  lagoons  and  ready,  in  the  next 
generation,  to  assume  the  full-blown  richness  of  what 
we  know  as  the  Venetian  type  of  beauty. 

They  took  no  exercise,  these  Venetian  ladies — 
they  could  not  ride,  and  they  did  no  more  in  the 
way  of  walking  than  a  turn  or  two  in  the  Piazza — 
they  took  infinite  care  of  their  complexions  and  grew 
sleek  and  white  and  massive;  they  treated  their  hair 
with  washes  and  spread  it  out  over  a  crownless  hat 
to  bleach  it  in  the  sun,  and  crimped  it  artificially  till 
it  rippled  about  their  heads  in  little  amber  waves. 
They  were  sumptuous  creatures,  sleepy,  and  disin- 
clined to  exertion,  content  to  sit  in  splendid  gar- 
ments and  be  adored.  The  type  scarcely  changes 
through  the  whole  sixteenth  century,  except  to  grow 
more  accented,  bigger  and  blonder,  as  the  years  pass 


CARPACCIO:        ST.    URSULA   LEAVING    HER   PARENTS 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  43 

by.  The  great  Titian  lived  so  long  and  painted  so 
many  of  these  rich  beauties,  and  so  consummately, 
that  we  are  apt  to  think  of  the  type  as  his  creation, 
but  it  is  the  same  in  all  the  works  of  his  contempo- 
raries. One  could  choose  a  hundred  examples  of  it 
for  illustration  almost  as  easily  as  one;  we  must 
content  ourselves  with  two — one  painted  by  Titian 
near  the  beginning  of  the  century,  one  by  Veronese 
near  the  end. 

There  have  been  many  conjectures  as  to  what 
Titian  meant  in  the  picture  that  is  known  to  us 
as  "  Sacred  and  Profane  Love."  Almost  the  only 
thing  we  can  be  sure  of  is  that  he  did  not  give  it 
that  title.  Whatever  may  have  been  his  intellectual 
intention,  however,  his  pictorial  conception  is  abun- 
dantly clear.  He  wanted  to  paint  two  beautiful 
women,  one  clothed,  the  other  nude,  and  he  made  them 
as  beautiful  as  he  could  and,  inevitably,  in  the  style 
of  beauty  most  in  vogue  at  the  moment.  It  is  a  pic- 
ture of  his  early  time  when  he  was  still  influenced 
by  the  romantic  poetry  of  that  wonderful  youth, 
Giorgione;  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  purely  lovely 
things  he  ever  did.  The  draped  figure  is  completely 
dressed,  even  to  the  ill-fitting  gloves  upon  her  hands, 
and  is  a  complete  record  of  the  fashions  of  the  day. 
The  wide-flowing  sleeves;  the  plain,  short  bodice 
with  the  gathered  chemisette  beneath;  the  ample 
skirt,  pleated  in  at  the  waist  and  confined  by  a  belt 
— these  garments  are  much  like  those  worn  by  Jo- 


44.  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

anna  of  Aragon,  of  whom  this  lady  must  be  nearly 
a  contemporary,  but  one  fancies  that  the  under- 
sleeves  mark  a  transition  to  later  modes.  The  hair 
with  its  heavy  masses  of  soft  and  wavy  gold  is  en- 
tirely Venetian,  and  so  is  the  full  oval  of  the  face 
with  its  quiet,  oxlike  eye  and  ripe  mouth — so,  too,  are 
the  white  throat  and  ample,  creamy  shoulders. 

Veronese's  "  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine  "  must  have 
been  painted  some  fifty  or  sixty  years  later,  and  the 
costume  has  entirely  changed,  but  the  type  has  only 
become  increasingly  opulent.  This  fair  saint  is  far 
from  the  largest  of  Veronese's  women — he  was  fond 
of  matronly  types,  in  which  massiveness  approaches 
stoutness,  and  many  of  these  are  unmistakable  and 
intentional  portraits.  Neither  is  she  the  most  beau- 
tiful, for  his  heads  sometimes  have  an  adorable  dis- 
tinction. But  she  is  very  characteristic  of  Veronese 
and  of  Venice — all  the  more  so  that  she  is  intended 
to  be  ideal  and  that  even  her  costume,  one  fancies, 
is  a  little  "  arranged  "  and  not  quite  literally  copied 
from  the  clothes  actually  worn  by  any  living 
woman. 

This  great,  good-natured,  marvellously  gifted 
Paolo  could  not  help  painting  the  women  of  his  own 
city  and  his  own  time,  and  even  the  mystical  St.  Cath- 
erine becomes  a  plump  Venetian  under  his  hand. 
Taste  in  dress  has  become  more  artificial  now,  and 
women  wear  stiff  stays  and  long  waists,  and  their 
skirts  have  become  more  and  more  voluminous,  while 


VERONESE:     MARRIAGE  OF  ST.  CATHERINE 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  45 

the  sleeves  are  long  and  rather  close,  with  a  little 
ruffle  well  down  over  the  wrist.  You  may  see  the 
costume,  exactly  as  it  was  worn,  in  many  of  the  fig- 
ures in  Veronese's  pictures — here  it  is  slightly  modi- 
fied and  made  more  rich  and  flowing.  Nothing  of  the 
natural  figure  is  visible,  or  even  to  be  divined,  but  the 
head  and  neck  and  the  hands.  The  fashionable  type 
has  become  more  blond  than  ever,  and  the  golden  hair 
is  flaxen  now;  the  hands  are  fat  and  dimpled,  with 
pointed  fingers,  the  pearl-encircled  throat  is  whiter 
and  rounder  than  ever,  and  there  is  a  distinct  hint 
of  a  double  chin. 

This  picture  is  the  gayest  and  the  most  rococo  in 
feeling  of  all  that  Veronese  painted,  that  having  the 
least  of  the  old  Italian  gravity  and  seriousness.  No 
one  was  ever  more  able  than  Veronese;  no  one  ever 
knew  his  trade  more  thoroughly ;  no  one  ever  painted 
better.  But  he  is  the  last  of  the  great  Italians,  and 
this  picture  marks  the  end  of  the  dominance  of 
Italy  in  the  fine  arts.  The  unequal  Tintoretto  sur- 
vived him  a  few  years,  but  with  the  beginning  of  the 
seventeenth  century  the  sceptre  passes  definitely  to 
the  Northern  schools. 

The  painters  of  the  north,  from  Jan  Van  Eyck 
downward,  were  essentially  realists  and  portrait- 
painters,  and  all  through  the  Middle  Ages  and  the 
Renaissance  the  pictures  they  produced  are  little 
else  than  a  series  of  elaborate  illustrations  of  contem- 
porary life  and  costume.  But  of  all  the  realists  and 


46 

all  the  portrait-painters  that  the  world  has  seen, 
Hans  Holbein  was  perhaps  the  most  typically  realist 
and  portrait-painter.  In  the  mid-sixteenth  century, 
when  Italian  art  is  at  its  highest,  he  shows,  in  his 
most  characteristic  works,  no  Italian  influence,  no 
desire  of  idealism,  no  care  for  anything  else  than  the 
accurate  representation  of  men  and  women ;  and 
sheer  honesty  and  good  drawing  have  raised  him 
on  a  pedestal  of  his  own  as  high  as  any.  This  solid, 
stolid,  German  burgher,  with  no  other  gifts  than  a 
true  eye  and  a  sure  hand,  is  one  of  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth — one  of  the  unapproached  and  unap- 
proachable artists.  His  truth-telling  is  so  unflinch- 
ing that  one  wonders,  sometimes,  how  his  patrons 
stood  it,  but  he  could  see  beauty  as  well  as  ugliness, 
and  when  he  does  do  a  beautiful  head  his  entire 
veracity  makes  its  beauty  the  more  impressive.  One 
is  sure,  as  one  is  with  no  other  painter,  that  the  beauty 
was  actually  in  the  sitter,  not  invented  by  the  artist. 
His  drawings  are  often  more  impressive  than  his 
paintings  (though  he  painted  beautifully,  too,  after 
his  fashion),  because  in  the  drawings  the  impression 
of  nature  is  more  immediately  and  more  instanta- 
neously rendered;  and  the  wonderful  series  of  draw- 
ings at  Windsor  make  us  feel  that  we  see  the  men 
and  women  of  the  court  of  Henry  VIII.  more  clearly 
than  photography  could  have  shown  them  to  us. 
They  are  the  most  wonderful  drawings  in  all  the 
world,  and  one  of  the  most  wonderful  of  them  is 


HOLBEIN:      THE  LADY  HEVENIXGHAM 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  47 

that  of  the  Lady  Heveningham  or,  as  it  is  written 
on  the  drawing,  by  some  later  hand,  Henegham. 

Little  is  known  of  the  lady  except  that  she  was 
a  cousin  of  Anne  Boleyn,  and  the  mother  of  a  large 
family,  but  her  face,  of  a  chaste  and  purely  English 
loveliness,  is  our  possession  forever.  It  is  difficult, 
to-day,  to  conceive  what  great  differences  of  type 
and  costume  were  to  be  found  in  the  Europe  of  that 
time  by  travelling  a  few  hundred  miles.  Geography 
will  never  play  such  a  role  again.  Compare  the 
costume  of  these  English  ladies,  with  their  elaborate 
caps  completely  covering  the  hair,  their  stiff  stom- 
achers and  narrowed  bust  and  shoulders,  and  the 
wing-like  sleeves  standing  out  stiff  below,  with  the 
unbound  locks  and  free-flowing  robes  of  Joanna  of 
Aragon  or  Titian's  lady  of  the  "  Sacred  and  Pro- 
fane Love,"  and  it  will  seem  as  if  one  had  gone  back 
two  hundred  years,  at  least,  and  found  oneself  again 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  If  you  look  at  the  paintings 
rather  than  the  drawings  this  effect  will  be  increased 
by  the  hard  and  minute  style  of  handling  which  was 
partly  Holbein's  natural  language,  but  was  partly, 
perhaps,  forced  upon  him  by  the  primitive  taste  of 
the  England  of  that  day.  Yet  these  English  por- 
traits are  ten  or  twenty  years  later  than  the  Italian 
pictures.  The  Renaissance  crept  very  slowly  north- 
ward, and  it  was  for  that  very  reason  that  it  reached 
its  highest  splendour  in  Flanders  when  it  was  already 
dead  in  Italy. 


48  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

Logically,  we  should  deal  next  with  glorious  Peter 
Paul  Rubens,  but  it  will  be  more  convenient  to  take 
him  up  a  little  later,  when  he  can  be  placed  in  rela- 
tion to  his  artistic  posterity.  Now  we  shall  jump 
from  England  to  Spain,  where,  almost  precisely  a 
hundred  years  after  Holbein,  flourished  a  painter 
who  seems  to  have  had  no  ancestry,  and  no  immediate 
posterity,  but  whose  influence  to-day  is  greater  than 
that  of  any  other  master  whatsoever — the  master 
from  whom  are  ultimately  derived  the  varying  styles 
of  Manet  and  Whistler  and  Sargent — Diego  Velas- 
quez. 

Velasquez  is  as  unapproachably  the  painter  as 
Holbein  is  the  draughtsman,  and  his  inimitable  free- 
dom of  handling  is  antipodal  to  Holbein's  severity 
and  jewellike  incisiveness,  but  temperamentally  the 
men  had  much  in  common.  Both  were  realists  and 
portrait-painters  by  nature,  and  neither  found  any- 
thing so  interesting  as  life.  The  portrait  of  the  In- 
fanta Maria  Theresa,  in  the  Prado,  is  technically 
one  of  the  world's  masterpieces  of  painting,  a  mir- 
acle of  lightness  of  hand  and  justness  of  eye,  but  its 
interest  for  us,  just  now,  is  in  the  complacency  of 
a  great  artist  before  the  most  monstrous  costume 
that  was  ever  worn  in  the  world.  The  stiffness  of 
Italian  costume  in  the  later  part  of  the  sixteenth 
century  is  thought  to  have  been  due  to  Spanish  in- 
fluence ;  by  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  the  Spanish 
Court  costume  had  become  an  extravagant  carica- 


VELASQUEZ:   "THE  INFANTA  MARIA  THERESA" 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  49 

ture  of  this  stiffness  such  as  no  other  nation  has  ever 
tolerated.  The  skirt  is  supported  on  a  hoop  which 
is  built  out  sideways  until  it  holds  the  arms  nearly 
horizontal,  and  the  figure  is  actually  wider  than  high ; 
the  body  is  incased  in  a  rigid  sheath  which  shows  no 
vestige  of  natural  curves;  the  hair  is  puffed  out  on 
either  side  of  the  head  and  often  tricked  out  with  a 
multitude  of  little  bows  and  feathers ;  the  very  face 
is  daubed  with  red  and  white,  and  everything  natural 
is  suppressed  that  it  is  possible  to  suppress.  Yet 
these  extraordinary  garments  the  great  painter  can 
copy  with  utmost  precision,  and  in  this  little  painted 
idol  he  can  see,  and  make  us  see,  the  charm  of  living, 
human  youth.  Art  has  done  many  marvellous  things, 
but  nothing  more  marvellous  than  this. 

In  his  own  day  Velasquez  had  little  more  than  a 
local  reputation  and,  in  spite  of  his  two  voyages  to 
Italy,  remained  merely  the  court  painter  of  the  King 
of  Spain;  but  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury is  full  of  the  glory  of  Peter  Paul  Rubens, 
Knight,  Secretary  to  his  Majesty's  Privy  Council, 
and  Gentleman  of  the  Household  of  her  Serene 
Highness  the  Princess  Isabella,  the  finest  of  gentle- 
men and  the  most  exuberant  of  painters.  He  was 
admired  and  employed  in  Italy  and  France,  in  Spain 
and  England,  as  well  as  in  his  native  Flanders,  and 
may  be  said  to  have  been  painter  to  all  the  courts 
of  Europe.  Directly,  or  through  his  pupil  Van 
Dyck,  he  was  the  father  of  all  the  art  of  the  eight- 


50  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

eenth  century  and  of  much  of  that  of  the  nine- 
teenth. In  every  way  he  was  one  of  the  most  splendid 
figures  in  the  history  of  art.  The  taste  of  his  time 
was  for  the  pompous  and  the  emphatic,  and  a  great 
deal  in  his  art  is  really  academic,  unchastened  as  it 
seems  to  our  more  refined  sensibilities ;  but  his  abun- 
dant vitality  is  his  own.  He  covered  acres  of  canvas 
with  gorgeous  allegories,  painted  a  whole  figure  from 
top  to  toe  in  a  morning,  tranquilly  and  easily,  and 
went  out  to  ride  in  the  afternoon.  His  several  great 
series  of  historical  paintings  devoted  to  the  glorifi- 
cation of  Marie  de'  Medici  or  another,  his  altar- 
pieces  and  colossal  decorations  and  mythologies,  have 
ceased  to  please  the  world  very  greatly,  magnificent 
though  they  are  as  revelations  of  power.  To  us, 
with  our  changed  tastes,  they  ring  a  little  hollow, 
and  their  vigour  is  marred  by  what  seems  to  us 
coarseness,  though  queens  and  princesses  saw  nothing 
wrong  in  them.  Critics  and  students  of  art  will 
always'  admire  them,  but  the  world  has  turned  to 
another  part  of  the  great  man's  work  for  its  pleas- 
ure— a  part  of  it  which  he  produced  to  please  himself, 
the  surest  way  to  please  others. 

At  fifty-three  Rubens  took  for  his  second  wife  a 
girl  of  sixteen,  Helena  Fourment,  radiant  with 
youth  and  beauty,  whom  he  adored.  He  was  rich 
and  had  a  fine  position,  was  growing  elderly  and 
gouty,  and  was  tired  of  playing  ambassador  and  of 
painting  enormous  pictures  to  order.  He  knew  every- 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  51 

thing  that  was  to  be  known  of  the  art  of  painting, 
and  he  laid  all  his  skill  and  experience  at  the  feet  of 
his  young  wife,  painting,  for  his  own  amusement,  a 
series  of  portraits  of  her,  and  of  smallish  pictures  in 
which  she  is  ever  the  principal  figure,  which  are  scat- 
tered through  the  museums  of  Europe  and  which  are 
marvels  of  delightful  art.  In  them  the  love  of  one 
woman  takes  the  place  of  an  interest  in  all  women, 
but  the  result  is  the  same.  He  painted  her  again  and 
again  in  all  the  splendid  costumes  which  his  wealth 
could  afford  her,  and  all  the  fashions  in  dress,  from 
1630,  when  he  married  her,  to  1640,  when  he  died, 
might  be  reconstructed  from  her  portraits  alone. 
Perhaps  the  most  delicious  of  his  pictures  is  that 
"  Garden  of  Love,"  now  in  the  Prado  Gallery,  in 
which  there  seem  to  be  half  a  dozen  Helenas,  each 
more  fascinating  and  more  richly  dressed  than  the 
others.  It  was  painted  in  1638,  only  two  years  be- 
fore the  end,  and  it  was  to  such  adorable  "  frivolity  " 
that  the  greatest  master  of  the  time  devoted  the 
ripened  talent  of  his  old  age. 

As  to  Rubens's  best  pupil,  Van  Dyck,  he  is  so  essen- 
tially the  painter  of  elegance  that  it  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  do  more  than  name  him.  He  was  more  than 
twenty  years  younger  than  Rubens,  but  he  survived 
him  only  a  year,  and  his  portraits  cover  the  same 
years  as  those  of  Rubens.  The  differences  are  those 
of  temperament  rather  than  of  time.  He  had  less 
than  Rubens's  strength,  more  than  his  refinement ;  his 


52  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

work  is  aristocratic  and  distinguished,  but  not  so 
full-blooded  or  so  manly  as  that  of  his  master.  His 
English  portraits,  painted  after  1632,  grow  languid 
and  almost  affected  in  their  prettiness,  and  his 
greatest  things,  such  as  the  Marie  Louise  von  Tassis, 
here  given,  were  painted  before  that  time  and  there- 
fore antedate  the  portraits  of  Helena  Fourment ;  yet 
they  seem  to  belong  already  to  a  later  and  more 
sophisticated  age.  This  lady  is  very  noble  and  very 
beautiful,  above  all  very  elegant  and  very  perfectly 
gowned,  and  her  head  is  living  and  human  and  expres- 
sive ;  but  she  has  not  the  warm  and  abounding  vitality 
of  Helena,  and  though  she  is  more  the  great  lady  she 
is  not  so  bewitching.  There  is  somethmg  of  the 
robustness  of  the  sixteenth  century  about  Rubens 
even  when  he  is  gayest — there  are  a  gentleness  and 
melancholy  about  Van  Dyck  that  mark  him  in 
advance  for  the  favourite  painter  of  Charles  I. 
Above  all,  one  feels  that  so  Helena  Fourment  did 
look,  though  the  genius  of  her  husband  heightened 
the  effectiveness  of  nature;  one  suspects  that  this  is 
the  way  Marie  Louise  wished  to  look  rather  than  the 
way  she  really  appeared.  As  to  costume,  the  priority 
of  the  "  Marie  Louise  "  is  shown  in  the  more  erect 
collar  and  the  greater  length  of  the  stomacher  and 
the  sleeves,  for  during  the  seventeenth  century  the 
waist  grew  ever  shorter,  the  collar  more  falling,  and 
the  cuffs  crept  gradually  toward  the  elbow,  while  the 
bust  was  pushed  higher  and  higher  and  was  more 


VAN  DYCK:      MARIE  LOUISE  VON  TASSIS 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  53 

and  more  constricted  by  the  straight  and  narrow 
stays. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  century  the  Dutch  were 
as  incontestably  the  first  painters  of  Europe  as  the 
Flemish  had  been  in  the  earlier,  but  we  shall  find 
little  to  our  purpose  in  the  work  of  the  greatest  of 
them  all.  Now  and  then  Rembrandt  painted  a  lady, 
but  he  soon  lost  his  earlier  popularity  and  few  ladies 
came  to  sit  to  him,  while  for  the  purposes  of  his 
strangely  poetic  art  an  old  Jew  was  a  better  subject 
than  the  finest  ladies  would  have  been.  The  other 
Dutchmen  were  realistic  enough  and  had  no  scruples 
about  elevation  of  subject  and  no  fear  of  con- 
temporary costume  or  triviality  of  incident.  No 
school  has  more  frankly  painted  the  portrait  of  the 
everyday  life  about  it  than  the  Dutch — but  the 
painters  were  mostly  men  of  the  lower  class,  and  more 
at  home  in  the  pothouse  than  the  parlour.  Painting 
what  they  knew  and  loved,  as  did  Carpaccio  and 
Veronese,  they  have  given  us  the  impression  that 
Dutch  life  was  low  and  coarse,  and  we  have  all  sympa- 
thised at  times  with  Louis  XIV.'s  "  Eloignez  moi  ces 
magots!  " 

Yet  there  was  a  life  of  refinement  in  the  Holland 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  there  were  painters 
to  preserve  it  for  us.  The  Dutch  had  among  them 
some  of  the  profoundest  scholars  of  the  age,  they 
were  delicate  connoisseurs  of  painting  and  lovers  of 
music,  and  the  grave,  orderly,  dignified  domesticity 


54  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

of  their  life  has  been  admirably  painted  by  some  of 
the  most  perfect  craftsmen  that  ever  handled  brush. 
There  is  no  swagger  or  brilliancy  about  these  paint- 
ers— their  art  is  reticent  and  discreet,  exquisitely 
neat  and  clean  and  finished,  fond  of  half  tones  and 
the  quiet  light  of  interiors  shut  away  from  the  street, 
mysterious  in  its  processes  and  inimitably  refined  in 
its  observation,  above  all,  absolutely  truthful  and 
honest.  Vermeer  of  Delft  is  the  most  delicate  and 
sensitive  of  them — an  artist  of  infinite  distinction 
who  saw  subtle  shades  of  sentiment  and  subtle  effects 
of  light  and  air  never  rendered  by  any  other;  Ter 
Borch  is  most  the  man  of  the  world.  He  has  painted 
his  own  portrait  for  us,  a  dignified  little  man  with  a 
large  strong  face  under  his  big  periwig,  and  shrewd 
eyes  either  side  the  big  hooked  nose,  very  properly 
dressed  in  black  and  grey  with  a  rich  lace  fall,  his 
toes  well  turned  out — a  most  capable  and  respectable 
person  who  will  paint  you  a  thoroughly  sound  and 
workmanlike  picture,  altogether  perfect  in  its  way, 
which  will  last  forever. 

In  "  The  Concert,"  of  the  Berlin  Gallery,  you  have 
a  bit  of  the  life  of  his  time  just  as  he  saw  it.  The 
room  is  plain,  almost  austere,  and  perfectly  kept; 
nothing  could  be  more  distressing  to  these  ladies,  one 
feels,  than  untidiness.  There  is  a  tile  floor,  without 
rug  or  carpet,  and  the  furniture  not  actually  in  use 
is  ranged  primly  against  the  walls,  upon  which,  in 
narrow  frames,  hang  a  painting  or  two — master- 


TER  BORCH:      THE  CONCERT 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  55 

pieces,  likely  enough.  There  is  nothing  anywhere 
that  could  catch  dust  or  that  might  not  be  scrubbed 
as  often  as  desirable.  In  this  room  sit  two  ladies — 
they  are  unmistakably  such — making  music.  Their 
dress  is  rich  and  of  expensive  material,  but  quite 
plain  and  sober,  and  the  conscientiousness  of  the 
artist  has  made  you  see  almost  the  stitches  with  which 
it  is  put  together.  The  'cellist  has  her  back  to  you, 
and  you  notice  only  the  neatness  with  which  her  hair 
is  dressed  and  the  single  pearl  in  her  ear ;  the  other 
is  seen  nearly  in  full  front  and  has  a  charming  face — 
much  more  beautiful  than  was  ever  common  in  Hol- 
land. It  is  a  picture  of  peaceful,  unexciting,  but 
indubitably  elegant  leisure,  which  the  great  little  man 
has  painted,  entirely  real,  yet  with  an  element  of 
idealism  in  it  also — an  ideal  of  decency  and  pro- 
priety not  without  its  charm. 

With  the  eighteenth  century  we  must  leave  the  Low 
Countries  for  France  and  England,  and  here  some- 
thing of  a  surprise  awaits  us.  The  eighteenth  cen- 
tury was  undisguisedly,  intensely,  and  intentionally 
frivolous.  Its  art  was  created  for  the  amusement 
of  court  gallants  and  powdered  marquises  avid  of 
pleasure  and  reckless  of  the  "  deluge "  to  follow. 
Here,  then,  if  anywhere,  we  should  expect  to  find  the 
painters  occupying  themselves  with  chiffons,  giving 
us  the  most  accurate  details  of  fashionable  toi- 
lettes, painting  the  boudoir  and  its  frail  occupants 
with  all  exactness — and  they  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 


56  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

We  have  idylls  and  ballets  and  masquerades — shep- 
herds and  shepherdesses  or  scenes  from  the  Italian 
comedy — anything  but  plain  statements  of  how 
people  actually  looked  and  dressed.  Even  the  por- 
trait-painters become  untrustworthy,  and  we  have 
great  ladies  posing  as  Diana  or  Venus  or  the  Graces 
in  something  intended  for  classical  drapery — often 
in  very  little  of  that.  It  is  only  Chardin,  the  painter 
of  the  bourgeoisie,  who  consents  to  give  us,  with 
almost  Dutch  perfection,  some  such  record  of  actual 
life  as  the  Dutch  have  given  us.  For  the  true  dresses 
of  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  day  we  must  go 
to  the  caricaturists,  who  alone  take  life  seriously. 

The  art  of  Watteau,  with  which  the  century 
opens,  is  founded,  in  ideal  as  in  technique,  upon  that 
of  Rubens,  and  Watteau  did  nothing  all  his  life  but 
play  his  variations  upon  the  theme  of  "  The  Garden 
of  Love  " ;  yet  how  different  the  temperament  of  the 
two  men,  how  different  in  sentiment  the  art  they 
produced.  Watteau  was  sickly,  restless,  morbid, 
unhappy,  and  while  he  learned  his  trade  from  the 
good-humoured  giant  of  Antwerp,  and  even  found  in 
his  works  the  type  of  his  own  compositions,  he  had 
none  of  that  master's  jovial  realism  and  abounding 
vigour.  Life  as  it  was,  was  hateful  to  him,  and  the 
real  jangled  his  sick  nerves.  He  took  refuge  in 
an  operatic  paradise  of  his  own  invention  where 
nothing  was  too  gross  or  solid  and  no  one  was  ever 
in  earnest,  where  life  was  a  kind  of  perpetual  picnic 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  57 

without  the  eating,  where  love  was  only  a  pretty  imi- 
tation, and  there  was  nothing  more  important  to 
do  than  to  sit  under  graceful  trees  or  dance  a 
languid  minuet — far  from  him  the  mad  whirl  and 
robust  gaiety  of  Rubens's  "  Rondo."  His  men  are 
habited  in  a  dress  reminiscent  of  the  past  century — 
a  dress  that  passed,  in  the  theatre,  for  the  costume 
of  a  peasant — or  in  the  still  more  frankly  conven- 
tional costumes  of  "  Gilles  "  or  "  Mezzetin  " ;  the 
dress  of  his  women  is  probably  more  like  that  of 
reality,  and  he  has  given  his  name  to  the  "  Watteau 
plait "  which  so  many  of  them  wear.  Among  the 
most  charming  things  he  did  are  numerous  chalk 
drawings,  rapidly  jotted  down  from  nature, — some 
as  studies  for  pictures,  more,  perhaps,  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  doing  them — which  are  unique  in  the  world  for 
the  expression  of  feminine  grace  and  elegance.  They 
are  as  masterly  in  their  way  as  the  grandest  things  of 
the  Italians,  and  as  ideal — only  it  is  the  idealism  of 
another  age  when  the  feminine  type  has  become 
fragile  and  subject  to  the  vapours.  Only  once,  in  the 
signboard  painted  for  his  friend  Gersaint,  the  picture 
dealer,  has  he  given  us  a  bit  of  actual  life. 

The  love  for  masquerade  is  almost  as  marked  in 
the  great  English  portrait  school  of  the  latter  part 
of  the  eighteenth  century  as  in  the  school  of  Watteau. 
The  English  were  neither  so  light-minded  as  the 
French,  however,  nor  so  clever,  and  the  masquerading 
took  on  a  different  tinge.  Reynolds  tried  to  imitate 


58  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

the  great  Italians,  talked  of  the  "  grand  style,"  and 
was  always  attempting  classical  draperies  and  paint- 
ing young  English  ladies  as  "  Nymphs  adorning  the 
Statue  of  Hymen,"  or  the  like.  Gainsborough,  with 
less  learning  and  more  temperament,  put  his  "  blue 
boys  "  into  Van  Dyck  costumes  and  his  women  into 
standing  collars.  Both  were  true  painters,  at  a 
time  when  there  was  no  longer  any  real  painting 
elsewhere  in  Europe,  and  they  had  a  race  of  healthy 
and  beautiful  women  for  models.  Even  their  theatri- 
calities are  charming,  and  when  they  painted  their 
fair  sitters  in  their  habits  as  they  lived,  they  are 
irresistible.  In  such  a  portrait  as  that  delightful 
one  of  Mrs.  Beaufoy,  the  headdress  alone  shows  the 
artificiality  of  the  century  that  was  passing ;  the  rest 
of  the  costume  is  simple  and  pretty  enough,  and  the 
lady  looks  wholesome  and  happy,  though  her  shoul- 
ders are  narrower  and  more  sloping  than  we  should 
like  them  in  this  day  of  athletic  women. 

The  French  Revolution  swept  away  all  the  frivoli- 
ties of  court  life  and  the  pretty  play-acting  of  the 
Trianon — and  it  swept  away  the  art  of  painting, 
too.  That  stern  republican,  David,  became  dictator 
of  the  art  of  France  and  of  the  whole  continent  of 
Europe.  According  to  him  colour  was  meretricious 
and  technical  brilliancy  vulgar,  if  not  immoral.  Art 
should  deal  only  with  elevated  subjects  and  in  a 
chaste  and  lofty  style.  Nothing  that  had  happened 
since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Republic  was  worthy  of 


GAINSBOROUGH:      PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  BEAUFOY 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  59 

representation,  and  the  artist  should  devote  himself 
to  drawing  helmets  and  kneepans  after  the  antique. 
His  style  was  even  more  rigid  and  academic  than 
that  of  the  most  pompous  of  the  academicians  of 
Louis  XIV.'s  time,  and  though  one  must  respect 
him,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  that  any  mortal  can 
ever  have  enjoyed  his  cold,  grey  pictures  of  strad- 
dling heroes — his  "  Oath  of  the  Horatii "  or  his 
"  Leonidas  at  Thermopylae."  Yet  there  was  a  painter 
in  David,  if  not  a  great  one,  and  he  shows  himself 
when  the  theoretician,  now  and  then,  relaxes  the  sever- 
ity of  his  rule.  At  the  Emperor's  command  he 
painted  a  contemporary  subject  in  the  "  Coronation 
of  Napoleon  "  which  is  still  interesting,  if  not  inspir- 
ing, and  he  painted  a  few  portraits  which  will  always 
please. 

First  of  these  is  that  of  Madame  Recamier,  for- 
ever charming  on  his  canvas  as  she  was  in  life.  Never 
was  David's  art  so  supple,  so  humanised,  as  in  this 
picture,  where  he  was  directly  under  the  spell  of  a 
warm  and  living  personah'ty — never  was  his  hand  so 
light,  his  method  so  nearly  that  of  a  painter.  His 
science  is  subordinated  to  the  rendering  of  life,  his 
draughtsmanship  employed  to  convey  an  adequate 
impression  of  the  slenderly  graceful  figure  before 
him.  There  is  little  colour  in  the  picture,  but  there 
is  none  of  the  hard  finish  and  rather  brutal  solidity 
of  his  ordinary  handling — everything  is  indicated  in 
thin  and  almost  transparent  rubbings,  apparently  at 


60  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

a  single  sitting.  Perhaps  the  portrait  was  never  fin- 
ished; if  so  we  must  be  thankful  that  accident,  or 
perhaps  his  own  realisation  that  he  had  already  done 
better  than  his  best,  prevented  his  ruining  it,  as  he 
must  infallibly  have  done  had  he  attempted  to  carry 
it  further. 

But  if  the  picture  is  a  capital  instance  of  the  influ- 
ence of  life  upon  art  it  is  no  less  an  instance  of  the 
influence  of  art  upon  life.  The  theories  of  David  had 
profoundly  influenced  the  world  about  him,  and  the 
austerity  of  these  bare  walls,  the  slender  forms  of 
the  furniture,  the  classical  tripod  with  its  lamp ;  the 
simple  white  robe,  bare  feet  and  arms,  and  coiffure 
imitated  from  the  antique — these  things  are  the 
tribute  of  the  age  to  a  powerful  artistic  personality. 

The  foremost  of  David's  pupils  was  a  far  greater 
artist  than  his  master.  David's  drawing  is  coldly 
correct,  that  of  Ingres  is  exquisite.  He  is  one  of  the 
great  masters  of  line,  and  the  beauty  of  his  lines  and 
of  the  patterns  they  trace  is  so  great  and  so  satis- 
fying that  one  forgives  him  the  hardness  of  his  tex- 
tures and  the  unpleasantness  of  his  colour.  It  is  not 
painting  that  he  gives  us,  but  it  is  art  of  a  very  re- 
fined kind  like  the  cutting  of  Greek  gems,  and  the 
"  Oedipus,"  the  "  Source,"  the  "  Ruggiero  and  An- 
gelica "  are  in  their  own  way  inimitable  and  among 
the  most  accomplished  masterpieces  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Yet  it  is  doubtful  if  Ingres  is  not  surer 
of  immortality  for  his  portraits  than  for  anything 


INGRES:      PORTRAIT  OF  MME.  RIVIERE 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  61 

else.  The  little  portraits  in  lead  pencil  which  he  did 
as  "  pot-boilers  "  are  almost  as  wonderful  as  Hol- 
bein's portraits  in  chalk,  and  the  painted  portrait 
of  Bertin  is  one  of  the  most  astonishing  renderings 
of  a  personality  and  a  physique  that  the  world  has 
seen.  For  though  he  was  a  classicist  by  training, 
Ingres  was  a  realist  by  nature,  an  observer  of  extra- 
ordinary incisiveness,  strong,  veracious,  eagle-eyed, 
and  while  he  had  far  more  than  Diirer's  sense  of 
beauty  he  has  all  his  relentless  accuracy.  If,  as  he 
said,  "  drawing  is  the  probity  of  art,"  never  was  a 
man  of  more  rigid  probity.  The  dogmas  of  classi- 
cism kept  the  observation  of  contemporary  life  out 
of  his  pictures — they  could  not  keep  it  out  of  his  por- 
traits, and  therefore  there  is  more  of  Ingres  in  the 
portrait  of  Madame  Riviere  than  in  "  The  Source." 
It  has  all  the  beauty  of  arrangement,  all  the  severity 
of  line,  all  the  look  of  something  carved  in  imper- 
ishable material,  fixed  forever  and  as  irrevocable  as 
inevitable,  which  is  the  charm  of  his  art  for  those 
who  care  for  it;  and  it  has,  besides,  the  interest  of 
the  real,  of  the  woman  of  flesh  and  blood  immortal- 
ised in  her  actual  charm,  dressed  as  women  did  dress 
at  the  end  of  the  Napoleonic  period. 

Between  1820  and  1830  men  began  to  wish  to  paint 
again.  They  were  no  longer  willing  to  do  without 
colour  or  the  delight  of  free  and  beautiful  hand- 
ling, and  they  tired  of  restricting  their  art  to  the 
delineation  of  Greek  and  Roman  heroes  with  straight 


62  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

noses  and  curly  hair.  The  love  of  light  and  colour 
took  them  to  the  Orient,  or  they  looked  at  the  pic- 
tures of  Rubens  and  Veronese  and  began  to  paint 
the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance  because  they 
loved  silks  and  brocades  better  than  abstract  dra- 
peries. Gradually  it  dawned  upon  them  that  the  old 
masters  had  painted  their  own  times  and  that  they 
might  do  the  same.  They  went  into  the  fields  and 
painted  the  landscape  they  saw  there — Troyon  began 
to  paint  cattle,  Millet  to  paint  peasants,  Courbet  to 
paint  the  bourgeoisie.  Finally,  about  1860,  they 
dared  again  to  paint  the  fashionable  lady,  not  merely 
in  portraiture,  but  as  the  subject  of  a  picture.  The 
last  of  the  academic  restrictions  on  the  subject- 
matter  of  art  was  swept  away. 

And  so  we  come  back  to  the  name  with  which  we 
set  out,  that  of  Alfred  Stevens,  for  no  man  has 
painted  the  modern  woman  of  fashion  so  well  as  he. 
A  Belgian  by  birth  and  early  training,  a  Parisian  by 
choice,  he  combined  the  wit  and  elegance  of  his 
adopted  city  with  something  of  the  vigour  and  the 
feeling  for  beautiful  painting  of  the  old  Dutch  and 
Flemish  schools,  the  result  being  an  art  of  his  own 
with  a  flavour  unlike  any  other.  Manet  and  Whistler 
were  just  beginning  their  careers  when  Stevens  was 
doing  some  of  his  best  work,  for  there  is  a  charm  in 
the  sound  and  quiet  painting  of  the  sixties  that  I  do 
not  find  to  the  same  extent  in  that  later  work  which 
shows  him  as  the  cleverest  of  virtuosi.  Ter  Borch 


STEVENS:     UNE  VEUVE 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Martin  A.  Ryerson,  Esq.,  of  Chicago,  the  owner  of  the 

original 


PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE  63 

or  Vermeer,  who  told  no  stories,  might  not  have  un- 
derstood the  delicate  mixture  of  irony  and  sentiment 
in  such  pictures  as  "  Une  Mere  "  or  "  Une  Veuve  " — 
they  would  hardly  have  cared  for  the  fine  literary 
skill  and  the  exquisite  restraint  with  which  the  inci- 
dents are  presented — but  assuredly  they  would  have 
appreciated  the  just  notation  of  light  and  colour, 
the  perfect  drawing,  the  absolute  rendering  of  sub- 
stance and  texture.  They  would  have  seen  in  him  a 
craftsman  of  their  own  lineage,  a  pupil  of  whom 
they  might  be  proud.  In  "  La  Dame  Rose  "  of  the 
Brussels  museum,  they  would  have  found  a  picture 
after  their  own  hearts,  and  while  they  might  miss 
something  of  its  serious  beauty  in  his  later  canvases, 
neither  they  nor  any  true  painter  that  ever  lived  could 
fail  to  admire  the  combination  of  subtle  tone  and 
colour  with  extreme  ease  and  brilliancy  of  manipu- 
lation which  makes  them  almost  unique  in  art.  For 
us  there  is  the  added  interest  in  the  earlier  paintings 
that  the  dresses  of  forty  years  ago  have  already 
become  historic  costumes,  and  have  taken  on,  as  such, 
a  picturesqueness  which  we  cannot  yet  find  in  those 
of  twenty  years  later,  which  are  merely  out  of 
fashion. 

In  this  cursory  review  of  the  art  of  four  hundred 
years  I  have  given  no  new  facts,  and  said  nothing 
that  is  not  perfectly  well  known.  Neither  is  there 
anything  new  in  the  moral  I  would  draw  from  it. 
For  that  moral  is  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  that  art 


64  PAINTERS    OF    THE    MODE 

should  deal  with  the  fashionable  life  and  the  fash- 
ionable costume  of  its  own  time — it  is  only  that  it 
may  do  so.  These  men  were  not  great  painters 
because  of  their  subjects.  There  have  been  equally 
great  painters  who  dealt  with  other  subjects,  and 
painters  who  dealt  with  the  same  subjects  who  were 
not  great  at  all.  It  is  not  what  one  does,  but  how  one 
does  it  that  is  of  importance,  and  if  one  paints  well 
it  does  not  matter  what  one  paints.  The  only  rule 
as  to  choice  of  subject  is  that  one  should  choose  what 
honestly  interests  one,  not  what  one  has  persuaded 
oneself  ought  to  be  interesting.  If  a  man  likes  the 
nude  let  him  paint  the  nude;  if  he  likes  peasants  let 
him  paint  peasants.  If  he  finds  that  fashionable  life 
interests  him  more  than  anything  else,  and  affords 
him  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his  peculiar  abili- 
ties, let  him  paint  that.  Our  business  is  to  enjoy 
what  he  has  produced,  and  to  estimate  its  value  by 
the  amount  and  kind  of  the  artistic  qualities  it  con- 
tains, not  by  the  subject  which  has  given  occasion 
for  their  display. 


STEVENS:      UNE  MERE 

Through  the  courtesy  of  William  Chase,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  the  owner  of  the 

original 


IV 
HOLBEIN 


HOLBEIN 

THE  name  of  Holbein  calls  up  immediately 
in  the  mind  a  series  of  portraits  somewhat 
stiff  in  attitude,  rather  primitive  in  their 
lack  of  light  and  shade,  but  incomparable  in  their 
masterly  draughtsmanship  and  their  expression  of 
character.  To  the  true  connoisseur  it  calls  up  first 
of  all,  perhaps,  that  wonderful  series  of^  drawings 
preserved  at  Windsor  Castle,  studies  for  portraits  of 
persons  connected  with  the  English  court,  which  are 
even  more  remarkable  than  the  paintings  executed 
from  some  of  them  for  the  masterful  use  of  what 
seem  inadequate  means — drawings  which  express  the 
full  power  of  the  sixteenth  century  in  the  technique 
of  a  hundred  years  earlier.  Considered  in  itself  there 
is  something  enigmatic  in  this  contrast  of  matter  and 
manner,  but  the  puzzle  becomes  more  baffling  when 
one  considers  these  drawings  and  paintings  in  con- 
nection with  the  early  work  of  the  man  who  pro- 
duced them.  We  are  too  apt  to  forget  this  early 
work.  When  we  begin  to  study  it  we  find  that  Hol- 
bein's development  was  in  the  reverse  direction  of 
that  of  almost  all  other  artists,  that  his  methods 
grow  more  primitive  as  he  grows  older,  and  that  his 

67 


68  HOLBEIN 

earlier  productions,  if  we  except  the  mere  prentice 
work  of  his  extreme  youth,  are  much  freer  in  move- 
ment, richer  in  composition,  fuller  in  light  and  shade, 
every  way  more  modern  than  the  works  of  his  full 
maturity. 

Born  at  Augsburg,  almost  at  the  very  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  twenty-six  years  later  than  Diirer 
and  twenty  years  after  the  date  usually  given  as  that 
of  the  birth  of  Titian,  Holbein  was  a  child  of  the 
high  Renaissance  and,  slowly  as  the  Renaissance 
crept  northward,  fell  early  under  Italian  influence. 
At  Basel,  where  he  began  his  independent  career  at 
about  the  age  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  this  influence 
must  have  been  greatly  strengthened  in  some  way, 
and  reaches  its  visible  height  about  1526,  just  before 
his  first  journey  to  England.  The  multifariousness 
of  his  work  during  these  early  years  is  somewhat 
surprising  to  us  who  have  learned  to  think  of  him 
as  almost  exclusively  a  portrait-painter.  Here  is  an 
all-around  artist  who  can  turn  his  hand  to  anything 
and,  in  the  absence  of  steady  employment,  is  very 
willing  to  do  so.  Book  illustrations,  portraits,  de- 
signs for  stained  glass,  anything  from  initial  letters 
to  altar-pieces,  he  is  glad  to  do,  and  he  does  them 
with  a  wonderful  fertility  of  invention  and  a  preco- 
cious mastery.  The  earliest  are  decidedly  German 
in  accent,  reminding  one  not  a  little  of  Diirer,  but 
almost  from  the  first  there  is  a  finer  taste  in  ornament 
and  in  architecture,  a  greater  freedom  of  movement, 


HOLBEIN:   "CHRIST  BEFORE  PILATE  " 


HOLBEIN  69 

a  more  Italianate  costume,  and  a  more  concentrated 
composition;  while  the  study  of  light  and  shade  be- 
comes early  a  visible  preoccupation.  There  is  a 
whole  series  of  his  cartoons  for  glass  in  the  museum 
at  Basel  which  are  worth  attentive  study,  and  the 
designs  for  the  shutters  of  the  Basel  church  organ, 
there  preserved,  seem  to  me  admirable  in  character, 
in  decorative  propriety  and  in  beauty  of  line — far 
finer  than  anything  of  the  same  sort  by  Diirer  or 
by  any  other  Northerner.  As  for  his  little  woodcuts 
of  the  "  Dance  of  Death,"  every  one  knows  them  and 
every  one  admires  them.  No  one  else  has  packed  so 
much  action,  so  much  energy,  so  much  faney  into 
such  small  compass.  These  tiny  blocks  are  among 
the  world's  masterpieces  of  design. 

But  let  us  concentrate  our  attention  on  a  few 
things  which  show  in  a  particularly  clear  manner 
Holbein's  study  of  light  and  shade  and  the  influence 
upon  him  of  Italian  art.  In  1521,  when  he  was 
twenty-four  years  old,  he  painted,  probably  for  his 
own  instruction,  that  extraordinary  piece  of  realism, 
the  "  Dead  Christ "  of  the  Basel  Museum.  In  con- 
ception this  is  sufficiently  German  or,  one  may  say, 
sufficiently  primitive — the  lank  body  stretched  out 
at  full  length  and  painfully  studied  in  every  detail, 
the  ghastly  face  with  glazed  eyes  and  open  mouth, 
are  Gothic  enough.  Its  originality  is  in  the  lighting, 
which  is  such  as  no  primitive,  German  or  Italian, 
would  have  thought  of.  Instead  of  the  front  light, 


70  HOLBEIN 

which  casts  scarcely  any  visible  shadow,  Holbein  has 
used,  to  bring  out  the  modelling,  a  sharp  side-light 
from  the  right  which  rakes  the  meagre  forms  and, 
relatively  to  the  position  of  the  head,  becomes  a  light- 
ing from  beneath,  throwing  the  whole  face  into 
shadow  except  the  underside  of  brows  and  nose 
and  upper  lip.  Turn  the  picture  so  as  to  bring  the 
figure  upright  and  you  have  precisely  that  effect,  as 
of  an  actor  before  the  footlights,  which  still  seems 
piquant  to  us  in  the  work  of  Degas  and  rather  start- 
lingly  modern  in  the  portrait  of  General  Borro, 
usually  attributed  to  Velasquez.  The  next  year  Hol- 
bein painted  the  "  Madonna  of  Solothurn,"  a  grand 
composition,  noble  and  simple  in  its  ordonnance, 
with  nothing  particularly  novel  in  its  lighting,  but 
with  no  remnant  of  primitiveness  and  nothing  pecu- 
liarly German  about  it,  unless  it  be  the  overcompli- 
cation  of  fold  in  the  lower  part  of  the  Virgin's 
mantle  or  something  in  the  type  of  her  head.  It  is 
a  picture  which  reminds  you  of  no  special  Italian 
master,  but  might  almost  pass  for  the  work  of  some 
unknown  Italian,  and  has  not  nearly  the  local  and 
national  accent  of  the  "  Meyer  Madonna  "  of  four 
years  later. 

In  the  next  few  years  must  have  been  painted  the 
eight  scenes  from  the  Passion  on  the  wings  of  an 
altar-piece,  in  Basel,  the  "  Touch  Me  Not  "  of  Hamp- 
ton Court,  and  the  "  Nativity  "  and  the  "  Adoration 
of  the  Magi  "  in  the  church  of  Freiburg  in  Breis- 


HOLBEIN:  "THE  NATIVITY" 


HOLBEIN  71 

gau.  The  "  Touch  Me  Not  "  has  almost  a  Venetian 
air,  both  in  types  and  costume  and  in  the  simplicity 
of  its  composition  and  the  gravity  of  its  masses, 
while  the  brilliant  interior  lighting  of  the  tomb,  in 
the  setting  of  dark  rocks,  is  altogether  surprising. 
The  scenes  from  the  Passion,  crowded  into  their 
narrow  upright  spaces,  are  full  of  small  figures  in 
turbulent  action,  of  audacious  foreshortenings,  of 
torchlight,  moonlight,  all  kinds  of  light  that  are 
violent  and  unwonted,  of  things  that  suggest  Tinto- 
retto more  than  they  resemble  anything  done  up  to 
that  time.  But  it  is  the  "  Nativity  "  of  Freiburg 
that  shows  us  Holbein  the  innovator  more  clearly 
than  any  other  work.  It  is  a  night  scene  and  the  light 
comes  from  the  holy  child,  as  in  Correggio's  famous 
painting  in  Dresden ;  but  in  picturesqueness  of  effect, 
with  its  vast  shadows  wavering  up  the  ruined  col- 
umns, its  weird  lights  flickering  into  the  faces  of 
the  spectators  and  bringing  out  the  broken  arches 
against  the  deep  sky,  where,  clear  at  the  top,  the 
moon  breaks  through  fleecy  clouds  and  shines  serenely 
down  upon  the  group  beneath,  it  far  outdoes  Cor- 
reggio.  Truly  a  remarkable  picture  to  have  been 
painted  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  sixteenth  century 
by  a  young  German  painter  in  a  Swiss  town  far 
from  the  art  centres  of  the  South. 

In  these  days  one  is  never  sure  that  an  accepted 
attribution  shall  not  be  upset  or  an  accepted  date 
altered,  and  it  is  possible  that  I  have  taken  too  much 


72  HOLBEIN 

for  granted,  but  I  imagine  there  can  be  no  doubt 
about  the  "  Meyer  Madonna  "  and  the  "  Lais  Co- 
rinthiaca "  of  1526,  or  the  "  Venus  and  Cupid " 
which  so  closely  resembles  the  "  Lais  " ;  and  these 
pictures  alone  are  sufficient  to  show  Holbein's  sub- 
mission to  Italian  influence  and  his  interest  in 
chiaroscuro.  In  the  "  Venus,"  and  in  the  still  finer 
"  Lais,"  there  is  no  longer  question  of  a  vague  and 
indeterminate  influence  from  beyond  the  Alps ;  it  is 
unmistakably  the  influence  of  Leonardo  that  has 
somehow  reached  Holbein.  In  expression,  in  model- 
ling, in  arrangement,  the  effect  of  some  study,  direct 
or  indirect,  of  the  work  of  the  great  Florentine  is 
at  once  apparent.  The  pose  of  the  "  Lais "  is 
admirably  free  and  graceful,  the  subtly  indicated 
smile  and  the  exquisite  modelling  are  altogether 
Leonardesque.  The  elaborate  costume  has  little  in 
common  with  that  worn  by  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  the  painter's  burgher  friends.  The  only  fault 
one  can  find  with  the  picture  is  that  it  is  too  reflective 
and  not  sufficiently  local  and  original.  One  can  see 
nothing  German  in  it  but  a  slight  homeliness  in  the 
delicate  features — nothing  specifically  Holbein's  own 
unless  it  be  the  impeccability  of  the  spacing  and  the 
composition,  in  which  he  never  fails.  And  yet  there 
is  one  piece  of  observation  in  this  picture  quite  aston- 
ishingly novel — the  cast  shadow  of  the  hand,  upon 
the  window-ledge  which,  as  with  the  Italians,  was  a 
favourite  device  of  Holbein's  for  closing  the  bottom 


HOLBEIN:      LAIS  CORINTHIACA 


HOLBEIN  73 

of  his  composition,  seems  like  a  prophecy  of  Rem- 
brandt. 

Such  was  Holbein  when,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine, 
he  determined  to  go  to  England  in  search  of  more 
golden  opportunity.  An  eclectic,  a  student  of  Italian 
art,  a  bold  experimenter  and  innovator,  what  was 
England  to  make  of  him?  An  artist  whose  person- 
ality was  not  yet  decisively  shaped,  but  who  might 
do  anything,  what  was  England  to  allow  him  to  do? 
The  English,  who  lived  upon  foreign  artists  for 
many  generations  and  produced  scarcely  any  of  their 
own  for  two  centuries  after  Holbein's  time,  have 
always  made  over  the  artists  whom  they  have  adopted, 
and  they  have  generally  made  of  them  painters  of 
portraits  exclusively.  For  three  hundred  years  they 
had  no  use  for  altar-pie'ces  or  decorations  or  subject 
pictures  or  even  landscapes ;  the  only  works  of  art 
they  would  pay  for  were  their  own  likenesses,  and 
an  artist  must  be  a  "  face-painter  "  or  starve.  From 
the  time  he  set  foot  in  England,  one  may  say,  Holbein 
painted  nothing  but  portraits.  He  was  back  in  Basel 
from  1628  to  1631,  with  English  money  in  his  pocket, 
and  at  his  old  work  of  decorating  the  town-hall, 
doing  miscellaneous  designing  and  illustrating,  even 
making  some  beautiful  drawings  for  goldsmith  work, 
but  he  seems  to  have  found  it  impossible  to  make  a 
living  there,  and  in  1531  he  goes  back  to  England 
and  his  portrait  painting,  and  does  nothing  else  until 
he  dies. 


74*  HOLBEIN 

Fortunately  for  him,  and  for  us,  he  was  already 
an  admirable  portrait-painter  and  had  produced,  as 
early  as  1523,  such  a  masterpiece  as  the  "  Erasmus  " 
of  the  Louvre.  During  all  the  time  of  his  experi- 
menting and  painting  altar-pieces  and  easel  pictures 
he  had  had  occasional  portraits  to  do,  and  had  done 
them  with  constantly  growing  power.  At  first  they 
are  German  and  Diirer-like,  but  gradually  the  influ- 
ence of  the  old  Netherlandish  school  becomes  more 
pronounced  in  them,  until  the  portrait  of  Erasmus 
of  Rotterdam  becomes  entirely  Dutch.  It  is  beyond 
praise  in  its  quiet  perfection  of  drawing,  its  wonder- 
ful truth  and  character,  its  enamelled  surface  and 
beauty  of  sober  colour.  The  eclectic  had  studied 
Van  Eyck  as  well  as  Leonardo,  and  had  almost  sur- 
passed him  upon  his  own  ground.  The  many-sided 
artist  had  one  side  that  fitted  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the 
new  public  to  which  he  was  to  appeal;  it  was  that 
side  only  of  his  genius  that  was  to  be  permitted 
further  development. 

It  is  only  slowly,  however,  that  the  extreme  of 
what  we  know  as  the  Holbeinesque  manner  was 
formed.  On  his  first  visit  to  England  he  bore  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  Sir  Thomas  More  from  their 
common  friend,  Erasmus,  and  the  portraits  he  painted 
were  of  More's  family  and  circle  of  friends.  On  the 
second  visit  he  was  for  a  time  engaged  on  portraits 
of  the  German  merchants,  members  of  the  Han- 
seatic  League,  who  were  settled  in  London,  and 


HOLBEIN  75 

some  of  these  portraits  are  among  his  most  perfect 
achievements.  We  have  no  evidence  of  his  official 
connection  with  the  court  of  Henry  VIII.  before 
1536,  and  it  is  as  court  painter  that  those  portraits 
were  produced  which  are  most  rigid  in  pose,  most 
shadeless,  most  naively  insistent  upon  every  detail 
of  ornament  and  costume.  It  is  in  the  work  of  the 
last  seven  years  of  his  life  that  the  great  painter 
becomes  definitely  the  primitive  he  has  generally  been 
reckoned. 

Let  us,  for  the  sake  of  contrast,  go  directly  from 
the  work  of  Holbein's  first  Basel  period  to  some  of 
the  work  he  did  as  court  painter  to  Henry  VIII., 
picking  up  the  dropped  threads  later.  Placing  the 
portrait  of  Jane  Seymour  or  that  of  Anne  of  Cleves 
beside  the  "  Lais  Corihthiaca,"  one  seems  to  have 
gone  back  in  manner  a  hundred  years.  In  place  of 
the  easy  movement  of  the  "  Lais  "  we  have  the  point- 
blank  symmetry  of  the  "  Anne  of  Cleves,"  everything 
on  one  side  of  the  canvas  answering  exactly  to  some- 
thing on  the  other  with  almost  the  absoluteness  of  a 
tracing,  or,  if  the  face  is  turned  in  three-quarters, 
as  in  the  "  Jane  Seymour,"  bust  and  shoulders  and 
hips  are  all  turned  together,  even  the  eyes  following 
the  general  movement — a  wooden  doll  could  not  turn 
otherwise.  Nay,  she  is  incapable  of  turning;  it  is 
the  artist  who  has  moved  around  her  to  get  another 
view.  In  place  of  the  beautifully  drawn  and  painted 
costume  we  have  clothes  of  an  extraordinary  rigidity, 


76  HOLBEIN 

with  no  detail  slighted,  each  jewel  or  bit  of  pattern 
as  near  as  every  other,  the  whole  thing  perfectly  flat, 
not  only  without  modelling  but  without  perspective. 
The  gold  is  real  gold-leaf,  only  slightly  modified  by 
glazings ;  the  face  is  entirely  without  shadows  and 
the  hands  cast  no  shadow  on  the  gown;  the  back- 
ground is  a  perfectly  even,  flat  tone,  representing 
nothing.  Jane  Seymour,  Queen,  is  a  queen  of  play- 
ing cards. 

How  far  the  artist  could  go  at  this  period  in  the 
abolition  of  cast  shadows  is  shown  most  clearly, 
perhaps,  in  the  remarkable  drawing  of  Sir  John 
Gage,  where  the  sharply  projecting  hat-brim  casts 
absolutely  no  shadow,  however  narrow  or  diffused, 
on  the  brow  below  it.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  the  direc- 
tion of  the  lighting — you  cannot  arrange  light  so 
if  you  try.  It  cannot  be  ignorance;  the  beauty  of 
the  drawing  itself  would  convince  you  of  that,  if  we 
had  not  his  earlier  work  to  prove  to  us  that  he  knew 
more,  rather  than  less,  about  chiaroscuro  than  the 
other  painters  of  his  day.  It  is  unmistakably  a 
matter  of  choice.  The  ablest  painter  out  of  Italy 
has  deliberately  set  back  the  clock,  and  has  reduced 
the  art  of  painting,  which  he  has  been  at  so  much 
pains  to  master,  almost  to  the  condition  of  mediaeval 
illumination. 

Was  the  choice  his  own  or  that  of  others  ?  I  think 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  was  forced  upon 
him  by  the  taste  of  his  royal  master.  When  Holbein 


HOLBEIN:      PORTRAIT  OF  JANE  SEYMOUR 


HOLBEIN:      SIR  JOHN  GAGE 


HOLBEIN  77 

came  to  England  there  were  already  certain  Flemish 
miniaturists  there,  employed  by  the  court — men 
whose  art  was  directly  descended  from  that  of  the 
old  missal-painters — and  one  of  these,  Lucas  Home- 
bolt,  was  a  "  king's  servant "  during  the  same  years 
as  Holbein  and  at  a  higher  salary  than  Holbein 
received.  These  men  painted  in  water-colour,  in  flat 
and  brilliant  tones,  without  light  and  shade,  used  gold 
freely,  and  employed  the  even  blue  background  which 
gradually  became  the  miniaturist's  sky.  They  had 
so  formed  the  taste  of  the  court  that,  in  the  next 
generation,  Nicholas  Hilliard  was  expressly  com- 
manded to  paint  Elizabeth  "  without  shadows." 
From  one  of  these  men,  probably  this  same  Lucas 
Hornebolt,  Holbein,  who  had  never  painted  in  water- 
colour,  condescended  to  take  lessons,  and  in  1535  he 
painted  the  wonderful  miniature  of  Henry  Brandon, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  which  is  in  the  Royal 
Collection  at  Windsor.  It  is  much  freer  in  attitude 
than  that  of  his  brother  Charles,  painted  six  years 
later,  as  if  Holbein  were  reluctant  to  submit  himself 
entirely  to  the  reigning  taste,  but  he  had  to  learn  to 
do  so.  It  is  in  some  of  the  miniatures  which  he  must 
have  painted — they  are  too  fine  to  be  by  any  one 
else — that  the  extremely  primitive  style  of  the  por- 
trait of  Jane  Seymour  first  makes  its  appearance. 
Apparently  he  found  that  he  must  apply  it  to  his 
portraits  in  oil  if  he  was  to  succeed  at  court,  and  the 
kind  of  humility  and  simplicity  that  had  always 


78  HOLBEIN 

led  him  to  accept  any  sort  of  task  that  any  one  was 
willing  to  pay  for,  led  him  to  accept  these  limita- 
tions. That  there  was  some  constraint,  however, 
would  seem  to  be  indicated  by  the  fact  that  the  primi- 
tiveness  of  his  style  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  exalted 
station  of  his  sitter.  Even  during  his  first  visit  to 
London  he  had  painted  Archbishop  Warham  in  a 
much  stiffer  manner  than  he  used  for  others,  and 
had  employed  real  gold  on  the  mitre  and  crosier ; 
and  chains  of  office  are  always  apt  to  be  drawn  with 
a  rigidity  very  different  from  the  ease  with  which 
he  could  do  the  scales  and  seals  of  a  merchant. 
Whenever  he  is  at  home  with  a  sitter  of  something  like 
his  own  rank  he  paints  his  best,  represents  him  in  his 
own  surroundings  as  he  lived,  gives  him  a  certain 
freedom  of  movement  and  truth  of  light  and  shade, 
limiting  himself  only  to  the  front  light  which  even 
such  a  sitter  demanded ;  and  when  he  is  back  in  Basel 
he  paints  his  wife  and  children  with  such  richness 
of  shadow  that,  in  our  own  day,  Henner,  as  a  travel- 
ling student,  found  himself  attracted  to  the  picture, 
and  made  a  copy  of  it  which  might  almost  pass  for 
an  original  work  of  his  own.  Even  to  the  end  he 
can  paint  a  picture  like  the  "  Hubert  Morett "  at 
Dresden — a  picture  seen  from  directly  in  front  but 
without  the  rigid  symmetry  of  the  "  Anne  of  Cleves  " 
— a  picture  with  a  green  damask  curtain  for  a  back- 
ground and  with  a  sidelight  on  the  face,  giving  it 
a  degree  of  chiaroscuro  which  made  its  long  attribu- 


HOLBEIN:      HOLBEIN  s  WIFE  AND  CHILDREN 


HOLBEIN  79 

tion  to  Leonardo  possible.  It  is  only  when  he  is 
called  to  paint  royalty  that  he  entirely  effaces  his 
knowledge  of  effect,  his  freedom  of  movement,  his 
interest  in  the  background,  and  produces  a  sort  of 
mediaeval  miniature  on  the  scale  of  life. 

It  is  as  if  he  said :  "  Very  well.  You  want  stiff- 
ness ;  you  want  absence  of  shadow ;  you  want  every 
detail  of  costume  made  out,  each  jewel,  each  link 
of  a  chain  as  prominent  as  every  other.  You  shall 
have  it  so.  I  can  do  other  things,  but  I  can  do  this 
too,  and  you  have  a  right  to  say  what  you  want  as 
long  as  you  pay  for  it."  Does  this  seem  too  much 
like  commercialism?  Holbein  was  a  tradesman,  but 
he  was  an  artist  also,  and  if  he  accepted  the  limita- 
tions set  for  him  he  produced  such  things  under 
those  limitations  as  had  never  been  produced  before 
— such  things  as  we  still  admire  even  more  than  they 
were  admired  by  his  contemporaries.  If  he  was  to 
work  at  all  it  was  necessary  to  do  such  work  as  was 
in  demand,  but  he  could  show  how  such  work  ought 
to  be  done;  and  though  he  painted,  as  it  were,  with 
his  hands  tied,  he  could  still  paint  better  than  any 
one  else.  He  abandoned  the  beauties  incompatible 
with  the  kind  of  art  that  was  asked  for,  but  he 
carried  the  beauties  proper  to  it  to  their  highest 
perfection.  He  even  made  an  added  means  of  ex- 
pression of  the  very  limitations  of  the  art  he  prac- 
tised, as  great  artists  will,  and  the  shadelessness  of 
the  portrait  of  "  Jane  Seymour  "  is  so  expressive 


80  HOLBEIN 

of  the  dazzling  fairness  of  complexion  which  was  her 
chief  claim  to  beauty  that  it  might  well  be  thought, 
as  it  has  been,  to  have  been  invented  merely  for  that 
purpose ;  while  the  "  miniature-like  perfection  "  of 
detail  in  the  costume  has  made  of  the  whole  picture 
an  exquisite  and  splendid  piece  of  decoration. 

What  would  such  an  artist  have  produced  if  he 
had  been  allowed  to  do  as  he  liked,  and  had  continued 
to  develop  on  the  lines  of  his  earlier  work?  He  did 
develop,  and,  because  he  was  a  more  mature  and 
powerful  artist  at  forty  than  he  had  been  at  thirty, 
the  relatively  primitive  works  of  his  last  decade — 
he  died  at  forty-six — are  the  finest  and  noblest  things 
he  did  and  are  among  the  finest  things  ever  done 
by  any  one.  Compared  with  them  such  a  picture  as 
the  "  Lais  "  is  the  interesting  work  of  an  artist  of 
promise — they  are  the  ultimate  expression  of  one  of 
the  greatest  of  artists,  masterpieces  destined  to 
everlasting  fame.  Whatever  he  might  have  been, 
Holbein  is,  for  us,  the  master  of  the  Windsor  draw- 
ings, of  the  portraits  of  Christina,  Duchess  of 
Milan  and  Hubert  Morett  and  Georg  Gyze — a 
painter  of  portraits  in  the  Flemish  manner  and  one 
of  the  greatest — in  some  ways  the  greatest— of  por- 
trait-painters. 

What,  then,  are  the  qualities  of  these  works  that 
give  them  a  special  and  unique  greatness,  differing 
in  kind  from  that  achieved  by  any  one  else?  The 
most  obvious  of  their  qualities  are  their  impeccable 


HOLBEIN:  PORTRAIT  OF  ERASMUS 


HOLBEIN:      CHRISTINA,  DUCHESS  OF  MILAN 


HOLBEIN  81 

draughtsmanship  and  their  absolute  truthfulness — 
the  most  evident  of  Holbein's  claims  to  immortality 
is  simply  the  possession  of  a  wonderful  eye.  His 
drawing  is  altogether  without  visible  formulae  or 
reliance  on  acquired  knowledge,  without  habits,  en- 
tirely innocent,  and  accurate  with  an  accuracy 
unknown  before  or  since.  The  mere  ability  "  to 
take  a  measure  or  to  follow  a  line,"  as  Fromentin 
phrased  it,  has  in  him  reached  the  level  of  genius. 
There  is  a  sheet  of  studies  for  the  hands  of  the 
"  Erasmus  "  that  is  an  everlasting  marvel.  A  single 
slow,  even,  trembling  pen-line,  tracing  the  contour 
with  entire  impartiality,  dwelling  on  no  one  thing 
with  more  insistence  than  on  another,  and  there  are 
the  hands  before  you — those  wonderful  hands,  soft, 
firm,  trained  by  years  of  beautiful  penmanship,  a 
little  aged  now  and  not  so  free  or  so  steady  as  they 
have  been — hands  that  no  one  who  has  studied  the 
Louvre  portrait  can  ever  forget — as  completely  ren- 
dered in  this  slight  sketch  as  in  the  painting  itself. 
His  drawings  at  Windsor  are  full  of  such  miracles  of 
vision,  and  they  are  evidently  as  truthful  in  the 
rendering  of  physiognomies — so  truthful  that  one 
wonders,  sometimes,  that  he  found  patrons.  Evi- 
dently the  Englishman  of  that  generation  wanted 
the  truth,  and  Holbein  gave  it  to  him  unrelentingly. 
He  is  the  one  painter  whom  one  can  never  suspect 
of  flattery — in  spite  of  Henry's  disappointment 
with  the  real  Anne  of  Cleves  after  seeing  her  por- 


88  HOLBEIN 

trait — the  one  painter  whose  entire  veracity  is 
unquestionable.  And  this  veracity  gives  a  singular 
preciousness  to  his  testimony  when  he  gives  us 
beauty;  and  he  had  an  eye  for  beauty,  too.  One 
doubts  if  Titian's  "  Bella  "  was  as  fair  as  she  is 
painted,  if  this  or  that  beauty  of  Van  Dyck's  was 
as  fascinating  in  the  flesh  as  in  his  presentation  of 
her ;  but  one  knows  that  the  "  Lady  Lister  "  or  the 
"  Lady  Heveningham  "  looked  thus  and  not  other- 
wise, that  her  penetrating  charm  was  in  reality  hers 
— not  lent  her  by  the  artist.  No  one,  not  even 
Velasquez,  not  even  Ingres,  has  ever  given  us  quite 
this  vivid  sense  of  likeness  which,  after  all,  is  one  of 
the  chief  aims  of  portraiture. 

But  though  Holbein's  drawings  are  thus  accurate, 
far  beyond  the  accuracy  of  the  photograph,  they  are 
never  photographic,  never  anything  but  works  of  the 
finest  art.  The  great,  humble,  painstaking,  clear-see- 
ing artist  seems  to  be  bending  every  faculty  to  the 
realisation  of  fact ;  but  all  the  while,  by  slightest,  per- 
haps unconscious,  modifications  and  imperceptible 
insistences,  he  is  enhancing  the  flow  of  a  line  or  sub- 
tilising the  gradation  of  a  half-tone,  making  out  here 
and  suppressing  there,  laying  in  a  broad  mass  of  tone 
where  it  will  tell,  or  reducing  another  mass  to  mere 
outline.  Above  all,  there  is  a  sovereign  instinct  for 
the  value  of  his  material,  for  the  intrinsic  beauty  to 
be  revealed  in  chalk  or  pen-line  or  spaces  of  blank 
paper,  that  is  equal  to  that  of  Whistler — it  could 


HOLBEIN:   "PORTRAIT  OF  HUBERT  MORETT  " 


HOLBEIN  83 

hardly  be  superior.  In  the  combination  of  rigorous 
truth-telling  with  sympathy  and  with  a  sense  for 
beauty  Holbein's  paintings  and  drawings  are  alike 
— it  is  their  abstentions,  their  apparent  slightness, 
their  economy  of  labour,  their  achievement  of  the  ut- 
most result  with  the  least  adequate  means,  that  give 
the  drawings  a  certain  superiority  over  the  paintings, 
and  that  make  this  set  of  sketches  from  the  life 
one  of  the  world's  most  priceless  possessions. 

Holbein's  sense  of  propriety  in  the  use  of 
material  did  not  desert  him  when  he  came  to  the 
manipulating  of  oil-colours;  it  simply  expressed 
itself  differently.  The  time  of  free  handling,  of 
the  broad  and  loose  touch,  hadxnot  yet  come  in  art, 
and  if  Holbein  had  the  capacity  to  anticipate  it 
he  was  not  allowed  to  do  so.  Minute  finish,  care- 
fulness, and  the  evidence  of  great  labour  were 
imperatively  demanded  of  him;  as  a  technician  he 
is  always  of  the  school  of  Van  Eyck.  His  handling 
is  close — "  tight "  as  the  painters  say — his  surfaces 
are  clean  and  smooth,  but  this  united  enamel  seems 
to  me  almost  more  wonderful  and  inimitable  than 
the  slashing  of  Hals,  the  fat  impasto  of  Titian,  or 
the  flowing  slipperiness  of  Rubens.  He  conceived 
of  a  painted  surface  as  something  precious,  jewel- 
like,  indestructible,  delicate  as  porcelain,  fused  as 
with  fire — and  he  realised  the  conception  with  a 
consummate  mastery.  You  cannot  guess  how  it  is 
done — the  art  that  conceals  art,  the  skill  that  hides 


84.  HOLBEIN 

itself  in  its  result,  can  no  further  go.  There  are 
portraits  which  have  all  Holbein's  draughtsman- 
ship and  sense  of  character,  but  if  they  have  not  his 
marvellous  handicraft,  his  mysterious  perfection  of 
surface,  they  are  copies.  It  is  by  his  unapproachable 
skill  of  hand  that  you  shall  most  surely  distinguish 
his  own  work  from  the  replicas  that  were,  no  doubt, 
often  made  in  his  own  shop;  and  he  who  does  not 
feel  a  sensuous  delight  and  a  tingling  of  the  finger- 
tips before  one  of  Holbein's  surfaces  will  never 
understand  the  man. 

Some  of  the  qualities  of  a  great  colourist  Hol- 
bein possessed  also.  His  choice  of  values  is  always 
perfect,  his  balance  of  light  and  dark  tones  admir- 
able, while  he  is  capable  of  grave  or  even  splendid 
harmonies  and  of  great  purity  and  beauty  of  indi- 
vidual hue.  It  is  a  decorator's  colour,  employed  in 
extended  masses  sharply  distinguished  from  each 
other;  not  the  broken  colouring  of  the  masters  of 
light,  but  of  its  kind  it  has  seldom  been  surpassed. 
But  it  is  as  a  designer  that  Holbein  is  most  absolutely 
the  master.  Every  one  of  his  portraits,  each  of  his 
drawings  even,  is  marked  by  the  same  mastery  of 
composition  that  characterised  his  early  illustrations 
— a  mastery,  within  his  narrower  limits,  as  sover- 
eign as  that  of  Raphael  or  Veronese.  Look  at  any 
scrap  that  he  has  left,  look  at  any  of  the  Windsor 
drawings,  for  example,  and  note  how  inevitably  the 
head  is  in  exactly  the  right  place  within  the  rectangle 


HOLBEIN  85 

of  the  paper,  how  exquisitely  the  filled  and  empty 
spaces  are  proportioned,  how  felicitously  the  lines 
of  the  body  meet  those  of  the  enclosing  border,  how 
entirely  whole,  satisfying,  and  incapable  of  change 
it  all  is.  Then  look  at  his  painted  portraits.  He 
has  always  the  same  problem  to  solve — the  agreeable 
placing  of  a  bust  or  half-length  within  a  certain 
space — but  with  how  many  subtle  and  felicitous 
variations,  with  what  exhaustless  ingenuity,  with  what 
invariable  adequacy  and  perfection,  he  solves  it. 
Each  composition  has  the  inevitableness  of  a  Greek 
gem.  The  man  who  could  so  arrange  a  simple 
portrait  was  a  great  decorative  designer,  and  it 
scarcely  needs  the  sketches,  which  are  all  that  is  left 
of  his  great  paintings  for  the  town-hall  of  Basel, 
to  show  us  what  was  lost  to  the  world  by  their 
destruction. 

Such  was  "  Master  Haunce,"  who  was  valued  for 
his  knack  at  catching  a  likeness  and  his  neat  and  care- 
ful workmanship — a  profound  artist,  a  draughtsman 
and  a  composer  of  the  very  first  rank,  and  a  colourist 
of  no  mean  order.  His  more  ambitious  works  have 
nearly  all  perished,  and  at  the  height  of  his  power 
he  was  allowed  to  produce  none.  We  must  judge 
him,  finally,  by  his  portraits,  and  they  are  enough. 
If  that  other  great  portrait-painter,  Raphael,  had 
suffered  a  similar  loss,  and  we  knew  him  only  by  his 
portraits,  a  few  sketches,  and  a  few  early  pictures* 
would  he  stand  as  high  as  Holbein? 


86  HOLBEIN 

If  any  one  of  these  portraits  which  are  the  great 
German's  definite  expression  as  we  know  him,  were 
to  be  selected  as  the  best  available  measure  of  his 
greatness  it  should  probably  be  the  wonderful  "  Georg 
Gyze  "  at  Berlin.  It  was  painted  in  1532,  at  the 
beginning  of  his  second  stay  in  England,  before  the 
demands  of  fashion  led  him  into  his  ultra-primitive 
style,  and  for  one  of  those  German  merchants  whose 
station  was  not  sufficiently  superior  to  his  own  to 
intimidate  him;  and  while  he  made  no  such  experi- 
ments in  the  lighting  as  he  was  given  to  in  work  done 
for  his  own  amusement,  notably  in  the  family  group 
of  a  year  or  two  before,  he  was  free  to  use  his  full 
power.  He  has  chosen  a  plain  front  light,  such  as 
Van  Eyck  might  have  used,  but  he  has  realised  the 
chosen  effect  to  the  utmost,  with  no  arbitrary  sup- 
pression of  such  shadows  as  he  saw.  The  attitude 
is  simple  and  natural,  without  affectation  either  of 
freedom  or  of  stiffness ;  the  execution  minutely  de- 
tailed throughout,  but  with  none  of  the  exag- 
gerated flatness  and  sharpness  of  his  illuminator's 
manner.  All  the  multifarious  objects  on  the  can- 
vas take  their  proper  places,  in  spite  of  their  crisp- 
ness  of  delineation,  and  the  picture  gives  a  real 
illusion  of  depth  and  of  the  circulation  of  air.  The 
merchant  sits  in  his  counting-house  before  a  table 
covered  with  an  Oriental  rug  and  littered  with  writing 
materials.  He  is  opening  a  letter  he  has  just  re- 
ceived, and  pauses  to  look  tranquilly  at  the  spec- 


HOLBEIN:      PORTRAIT  OF  GEORG  GYZE 


HOLBEIN  87 

tator  without  turning  his  head.  Behind  him  are 
letters  and  documents  in  racks,  books  and  boxes  on 
shelves,  seals,  scales  for  weighing  money,  a  hundred 
odds  and  ends ;  at  his  elbow  three  pinks  in  a  graceful 
glass  vase.  He  is  a  youngish  man,  strong,  intelli- 
gent, a  man  of  some  refinement  and  love  of  beauty, 
richly  dressed  as  becomes  his  wealth,  but  a  simple 
burgher,  with  no  airs  of  nobility  about  him.  You 
have  no  doubt  that  it  is  the  man  himself — as  a  piece 
of  characterisation,  a  portrait,  it  is  inimitable;  and 
what  a  work  of  art!  The  pattern  is  flawless;  the 
line  exquisitely  restrained;  the  colour,  from  the 
apple-green  of  the  wall  to  the  deep  rose  of  the 
sleeve,  sumptuous  and  splendid;  'the  flesh-painting 
actually  luscious  ;  the  surface  precious  almost  beyond 
belief.  There  is  nothing  finer  in  the  world — there 
can  be  nothing  finer.  Within  the  limits  he  has  set 
for  himself,  or  which  have  been  set  for  him  by  others, 
this  simple,  honest  workman  has  attained  perfection, 
and  the  attainer  of  perfection  is  forever  among  the 
immortals. 


THE    REMBRANDT    TERCEN- 
TENARY 


THE    REMBRANDT    TERCEN- 
TENARY 

IT  is  perhaps  natural  and  inevitable  that  we  who 
are  artists  or  who  are  especially  interested  in 
art  should  seem  to  overrate  the  importance  of 
art  to  the  world  at  large.  We  can  hardly  expect 
others  to  share  our  conviction  that  art  is  the  only 
thing  that  really  matters,  the  only  expression  of  the 
human  spirit  which  endures.  And  yet  it  is  true  that 
art,  in  some  of  its  many  forms,  has  preserved  to  us  all 
that  we  care  for  of  the  nations  and  the  civilisations 
of  the  past.  The  Greeks  had  an  art  more  consum- 
mate, in  many  directions,  than  any  other  the  world 
has  seen ;  and  in  virtue  of  that  art  they  are  to-day 
a  living  influence,  and  their  thoughts  and  their  ideals 
are  at  the  foundation  of  the  thoughts  and  ideals  of 
the  civilised  world.  The  Carthagenians  were  the 
founders  of  a  mighty  empire,  but  they  had  no  art ; 
and  when  Rome  wiped  out  that  empire  their  influ- 
ence disappeared  at  once  and  forever  with  their 
power.  Consider  Rome  herself,  the  mighty  organ- 
iser, the  mistress  of  the  world,  the  nation  of  soldiers 
and  statesmen  rather  than  of  artists,  and  ask  your- 
self whether  even  Roman  law  and  Roman  institutions 
impressed  themselves  as  deeply  upon  the  conscious- 
ness of  men  as  have  Roman  letters  and  Roman  archi- 

91 


tecture — whether  Virgil  and  Horace  are  not  more 
certainly  our  rulers  and  our  lawgivers  than  Augustus 
and  Justinian. 

The  little  country  of  Holland  played,  in  her  day, 
a  great  part  in  the  world.  She  produced,  also,  a 
band  of  painters  whose  art,  within  its  limits,  was 
very  perfect.  Does  the  world,  to-day,  care  more 
for  William  the  Silent,  or  for  Ter  Borch?  In 
Amsterdam,  in  the  year  1669,  died  in  poverty  and 
obscurity  a  worn-out  and  prematurely  aged  bank- 
rupt who  left  nothing  "  but  some  linen  and  woollen 
garments  and  his  painting  materials,"  and  was 
buried  at  a  cost  of  thirteen  florins.  In  1906  we, 
of  another  race,  speaking  another  tongue,  living  in 
a  country  which  has  grown  great  in  what  was  then 
an  almost  unknown  wilderness  beyond  the  sea,  were 
met  together  in  more  than  one  populous  city  to 
celebrate  the  three  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  birth 
of  Rembrandt. 

The  world  is  often  slow  to  recognise  the  great- 
ness of  the  mightiest  genius,  and  the  countrymen 
and  contemporaries  of  this  unsuccessful  painter 
cared  no  more  to  preserve  any  record  of  his  life 
than  did  the  countrymen  and  contemporaries  of  the 
prosperous  playwright,  William  Shakespeare.  Like 
that  of  Shakespeare,  the  biography  of  Rembrandt 
is  a  mass  of  guesses  and  conjectures,  or  of  trivial 
and  improbable  anecdotes  and  legends.  We  cannot 
even  be  sure  of  his  name,  for  we  do  not  know  why 


REMBRANDT:      PORTRAIT  OF  A  MAN 

(Himself?) 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   93 

or  by  what  right  he  called  himself  Van  Ryn;  nor 
of  the  year  of  his  birth,  for  there  seems  to  be  about 
as  much  evidence  that  it  was  1607  or  1608  as  that 
it  was  1606.  What  is  really  known  may  be  told 
briefly. 

Rembrandt  Harmensz — Rembrandt  the  son  of 
Harmen — was  born  on  the  15th  of  July,  in  one  of 
the  years  just  named,  in  the  town  of  Ley  den,  of  a 
respectable  lower-middle-class  family.  He  was  en- 
rolled in  the  university  of  his  native  city,  but  how 
much  he  studied  there  we  can  only  guess.  His  bent 
toward  art  must  have  declared  itself  early,  for  he 
began  the  study  of  painting  about  the  age  of  fifteen 
with  a  bad  painter,  one  Jacob  van  Swanenburch,  and 
is  supposed  to  have  stayed  with  that  master  some 
three  years.  What  he  learned  from  him  we  can 
never  know,  but  in  1624  he  went  to  Amsterdam  to 
study  with  a  painter  of  greater  reputation,  one  of 
the  Italianisers  as  they  were  called,  Peter  Lastman, 
and  from  him  he  can  have  learned  very  little,  for  he 
stayed  in  his  studio  less  than  six  months.  Yet  cer- 
tain tricks  of  costuming  and  that  love  of  Oriental 
frippery  which  gives  a  strange  accent  to  much  of 
Rembrandt's  work  he  is  supposed  to  have  acquired 
from  Lastman.  At  any  rate  he  returned  to  Leyden, 
determined  "  to  study  and  practise  painting  alone, 
in  his  own  fashion."  His  earliest  known  pictures 
are  of  the  year  1627,  and  the  earliest  etchings  of 
1628,  so  that  we  have  three  years  unaccounted  for. 


94   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

Somewhere  and  somehow  he  acquired  the  admirable 
technical  training  of  the  Dutch  school,  for  his  early 
work  is  neither  especially  original  nor  experimental, 
but  is  soundly  executed  in  the  manner  of  the  day. 
By  1628  he  had  already  become  sufficiently  well 
known  to  attract  pupils  to  his  studio,  Gerard  Dou, 
then  fifteen  years  of  age,  enrolling  himself  in  that 
year  as  a  pupil  of  the  master  of  twenty-two,  and 
remaining  with  him  three  years.  In  1631,  when 
Rembrandt  went  to  settle  definitely  in  Amsterdam, 
he  was  already  a  well-known  painter,  and  he  shortly 
became  the  fashionable  portrait  painter  of  the  day. 
The  next  year,  when  he  was  not  more  than  twenty- 
six  years  old,  and  may  have  been  only  twenty-four, 
he  painted  the  "  Anatomy  Lesson,"  which  set  the 
cap-sheaf  on  his  brief  glory  and  made  him,  for  a 
time,  the  most  famous  of  Dutch  artists. 

At  its  height  his  contemporary  reputation  seems 
to  have  been  rather  local  and  never  to  have  reached 
as  far  as  Antwerp,  where  the  splendid  Rubens  prob- 
ably never  heard  of  him,  but  it  was  real  enough.  At 
this  time  he  met  Saskia  van  Uylenborch,  a  young 
woman  of  a  much  wealthier  and  better  family  than 
his  own,  was  welcomed  as  an  aspirant  by  her  rela- 
tives, and  married  her  in  1634.  In  1639  he  bought 
the  house  in  the  Breestraat  that  was  never  paid  for, 
and  filled  it  with  the  collections  that  figured  in  his 
inventory  eighteen  years  later.  He  was  fond  of 
his  wife  and  of  his  work,'  always  busy,  the  master 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   95 

of  many  pupils,  earning  much  money  and  spending 
it  lavishly  on  his  wife  and  on  his  collections.  He 
bought  paintings,  engravings  and  bric-a-brac  at 
extravagant  prices,  and  seems  regularly  to  have 
been  fleeced  by  dealers  and  money-lenders.  Titus, 
the  only  child  of  his  marriage  that  lived  to  maturity, 
was  born  in  1641,  and  Saskia  died  in  June  of  the 
next  year.  In  that  year,  also,  he  painted  "  The 
Night  Watch,"  that  puzzling  picture  which  gener- 
ations of  critics  have  fought  over,  and  which  Captain 
Frans  Banning  Cocq  and  his  company,  for  whom 
it  was  painted,  understood  as  little  as  the  rest  of  the 
world.  It  increased,  in  a  manner,  his  reputation, 
but  hardly  his  popularity.  Rembrandt  was  becom- 
ing too  original  to  be  popular;  and  as  time  went 
on  and  his  work  grew  better  and  better,  the  public 
neglected  him  more  and  more.  He  shut  himself  up 
in  his  work;  made  his  servant,  Hendrickje  Stopfels, 
his  mistress,  and  let  his  finances  take  care  of  them- 
selves. The  crash  came,  and  in  1657  he  was  declared 
a  bankrupt  and  sold  up.  From  this  time  his  life 
became  steadily  more  miserable.  He  had  no  money 
of  his  own,  and  could  have  none,  and  the  faithful 
Hendrickje,  whom  it  is  hoped  rather  than  known 
he  had  at  last  married,  formed  a  partnership  with 
Titus  to  take  over  his  affairs  and  make  him  an  allow- 
ance. In  1661  he  painted  "  The  Syndics,"  perhaps 
the  greatest  of  his  masterpieces,  but  it  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  much  admired.  It  is  likely  that 


96   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

his  eyes  were  beginning  to  fail,  for  his  etchings  cease 
altogether  from  this  year,  and  from  1662  to  1664 
we  have  no  work  at  all  from  his  hand.  Hendrickje 
must  have  died  about  this  time,  though  there  is  no 
record  of  it.  Titus  married  and  died,  both  in  1668, 
and  the  next  year  the  father  sank  into  his  neglected 
grave.  He  left  a  daughter  by  Hendrickje  who  did 
not  long  survive  him,  and  in  the  next  generation  his 
posterity  seems  to  have  become  extinct. 

This  is  practically  all  that  is  known  of  the  exter- 
nal life  of  the  man  Rembrandt.  The  record  is 
meagre  enough,  and  we  might  wish  it  were  fuller, 
but  in  reality  it  is  of  little  consequence  that  we  do 
not  know  what  he  did  or  how  he  lived.  What  is  of 
import  to  us  is  what  he  thought,  and,  above  all, 
what  he  felt,  and  the  record  of  this  is  preserved  for 
us  in  his  work — a  record  extraordinarily  full  and 
minute.  For  he  was  always  at  work.  In  his  young 
days  he  set  himself  exercises,  posed  for  himself  and 
made  all  his  friends  and  relatives  pose  for  him  in 
turn,  tried  myriads  of  experiments  in  lighting  and 
handling,  working  for  the  sheer  joy  of  it,  or  with 
the  set  purpose  of  mastering  his  tools  and  acquir- 
ing the  means  of  expression.  Later,  in  the  success- 
ful years,  busy  as  he  was  with  commissions,  with 
work  that  was  well  paid  for  and  must  be  executed 
conscientiously,  the  stream  of  work  undertaken  for 
his  own  pleasure,  for  his  own  improvement,  for  his 
own  self-expression,  goes  on  almost  unchecked.  Sor- 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   97 

row  comes  to  him  and  it  is  in  his  work  that  he  finds 
consolation.  Patrons  fall  away — he  has  more  time 
for  his  own  imaginings.  Ruin  overtakes  him,  but 
he  never  ceases  for  a  moment  to  draw,  to  etch,  to 
paint.  Did  he  even  cease  for  that  interval  between 
1662  and  1664  when  the  world  was  darkest  to  him, 
or  did  he  merely  neglect  to  date  what  he  produced? 
Certainly  he  began  again,  if  not  with  unabated  power, 
and  continued  to  the  end  to  paint  pictures  for  which 
the  world  seemed  to  have  no  use. 

The  volume  of  his  work  is  extraordinary  and  its 
importance  not  to  be  overestimated.  No  scrap  of 
it  is  entirely  negligible  or  insignificant,  and  often 
the  rudest  scrawls  and  hastiest  notes  of  intention — • 
jottings  of  ideas  for  pictures  never  to  be  undertaken 
— are  full  of  power  beyond  many  a  finished  paint- 
ing ;  a  power  so  great  that  one  can  conceive  that  this 
first  registry  of  his  vision  was  sufficient  for  him. 
The  picture  was  there  and  it  mattered  nothing 
whether  or  not  it  ever  took  on  a  form  more  legible 
to  others.  In  such  an  essay  as  this  it  is  impossible 
to  give  more  than  a  glance  at  this  vast  production. 
Any  detailed  criticism  of  individual  works  would 
be  out  of  place,  and  I  can  only  try  to  convey  some 
notion  of  the  character  of  this  great  genius  and 
of  his  message  to  us  of  another  time  and  country. 
In  doing  so  I  must  necessarily  draw,  somewhat,  on 
the  great  bulk  of  existing  criticism  on  the  subject. 
No  master  has  been  more  discussed  than  Rembrandt, 


98   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

none  more  heartily  praised  or  extravagantly  blamed. 
Our  thoughts  of  him  are  necessarily  coloured  by 
what  we  have  read  as  well  as  by  what  we  have  seen, 
and  no  one  could  hope  to  interpret  him  entirely 
anew  and  without  reference  to  the  efforts  of  others. 
I  shall  therefore  make  no  apology  for  agreeing  with, 
or  for  virtually  quoting,  Fromentin  or  La  Farge, 
any  more  than  for  disagreeing  with  Gerard  de  Lai- 
resse  and  John  Ruskin. 

One  thing  we  may  eliminate  at  once  from  our 
estimate  of  the  meaning  Rembrandt  has  for  us,  and 
that  is  any  notion  that  he  is  specially  important  as 
a  recorder  or  an  interpreter  of  his  age  and  country. 
He  seems  to  have  had  no  sitters  of  such  rank  or 
genius  that  we  are  interested  in  his  portraits  on  their 
account,  and  even  in  portraiture — capable  as  he  was, 
on  occasion,  of  the  most  admirably  lucid  vision — 
his  record  is  so  capricious  and  fantastic  that  it  is 
never  implicitly  to  be  relied  upon.  Himself  he  etched 
or  painted  some  fifty  times,  at  all  periods  from  his 
boyhood  to  the  very  end  of  his  life,  and  there  is, 
perhaps,  no  other  face  so  well  known  to  us  as  his, 
and  yet  it  is  almost  impossible  to  guess  what  he 
really  looked  like.  It  is  not  merely  that  he  used 
his  own  features  for  the  study  of  varied  expressions, 
that  he  lighted  the  face  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  that  he 
dressed  himself  in  impossible  costumes  and  indulged 
his  fancy  for  velvet  caps  and  steel  gorgets  and  gold 
chains;  the  forms  and  proportions  of  the  features 


REMBRANDT:      SOBIESKI 


themselves  are  varied  in  so  bewildering  a  way  that 
it  is  only  by  certain  marks — the  deep  fold  between 
the  keen  eyes,  the  heavy  chin,  the  somewhat  sensual 
mouth  beneath  the  bristling  moustache — that  the 
head  is  identifiable.  And  then  one  begins  to  find 
these  same  features  in  other  pictures  that  have  passed 
under  other  names,  until  at  last  one  believes  that  even 
the  so-called  "  Sobieski  "  of  the  Hermitage  Museum, 
though  he  looks  fifteen  or  twenty  years  older  than 
Rembrandt  was  in  1637,  when  the  picture  was 
painted,  is  only  another,  and  the  most  incredible,  of 
his  avatars.  What  was  the  colour  of  his  hair,  and 
how  long  did  he  wear  it?  Did  he  ever  have  a  beard 
as  well  as  a  moustache?  There  is  a  canvas  in  the 
National  Gallery,  painted  in  1635,  which  is  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  ideal  Rembrandt  of  the  better-known 
pictures  that  it  has  always  passed  for  the  "  portrait 
of  a  man  "  unknown.  Here  is  no  bush  of  fiery  curls, 
but  a  round  and  rather  close-cropped  head;  no  ac- 
coutrement of  capes  and  chains,  but  a  falling  collar 
of  somewhat  rich  lace,  such  as  might  have  been  worn 
by  a  young  nobleman  or  a  wealthy  burgher  of 
refined  tastes.  Yet  as  you  look  at  the  picture  the 
features  assume  an  air  of  familiarity  and  you  begin 
to  suspect  that  here,  again,  is  Rembrandt  himself, 
painted,  for  once — perhaps  at  Saskia's  desire — as 
he  may  really  have  looked,  in  his  prosperous  days, 
to  the  rich  patrons  who  came  to  his  studio  or  met 
him  abroad  in  the  town.  Once  or  twice,  late  in  life, 


100   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

he  appears  again  in  a  possible  guise — in  the  costume 
of  his  time — but  only  once  or  twice;  the  rest  is 
phantasmagoria.  If  the  identifications  so  busily 
made  now-a-days  are  correct,  he  treated  his  father 
and  mother  in  the  same  way;  and  certainly  he  so 
treated  Saskia  and  Hendrickje,  who,  poor  girl,  might 
reasonably  complain  of  the  effigies  of  her,  clothed 
and  unclothed,  that  have  been  handed  down  to  pos- 
terity by  her  lord  and  master. 

He  could  not  often  treat  paying  sitters  thus 
cavalierly,  but  even  with  them  he  is  not  always  above 
suspicion,  and  in  the  "  Night  Watch  "  he  seems  to 
have  given  rein  to  his  fancy  with  disastrous  results. 
A  few  of  the  principal  figures  are  plausible  enough ; 
Captain  Cocq  himself  is  treated  with  respect,  and  his 
lieutenant,  though  badly  drawn  and  made  prepos- 
terously small,  is  naturally  enough  clothed.  But  in 
the  minor  personages  we  have  trunk-hose  and  steel- 
caps  and  broad  bonnets  and  all  the  outworn  frip- 
peries and  cast-off  clothing  of  Rembrandt's  studio 
— costumes  a  hundred  years  out  of  date  if  they  were 
ever  worn  by  any  one  in  the  way  they  are  here  put 
together.  Compare  these  strange  figures  with  Hals's 
perfectly  authentic  arquebusiers,  painted  ten  or 
twenty  years  earlier,  or  with  Van  der  Heist's  equally 
accurate  and  sober  representations,  and  you  will 
fancy  that  Rembrandt  has  given  us  a  scene  from 
some  mediaeval  Cour  des  Miracles  rather  than  a  pic- 
ture of  the  citizen  soldiery  of  Amsterdam.  No 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   101 

wonder  that  Captain  Cocq  was  dissatisfied  and  went 
to  Van  der  Heist  for  something  that  he  and  his 
friends  could  understand. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  landscape  of  Holland  as 
with  the  costume  of  the  epoch — Rembrandt  gives  us 
just  as  much  truth  as  suits  him.  He  is  capable, 
now  and  again,  of  the  most  careful  delineation  of 
canals  and  polders  and  windmills,  but  he  is  equally 
capable  of  mountains  and  romantic  ruins  and  im- 
possible visions  of  classic  architecture  strangely 
transformed.  You  can  trust  him  for  nothing.  If 
you  wish  to  know  what  Holland  was  really  like,  how 
her  citizens  lived  and  how  they  looked  and  what  they 
wore,  go  to  any  of  her  masters  but  Rembrandt  and 
you  shall  find  abundant  and  unimpeachable  testimony. 
You  may  date  the  fashion  of  a  collar  within  a  year 
and  determine  beyond  contradiction  the  number  of 
points  that  fastened  breeches  to  doublet.  From  him 
you  will  get  nothing  but  picturesque  imagination  or 
romantic  feeling,  and  you  must  be  content  with  that. 

Nor  has  Rembrandt  represented  the  soul  of  his 
time  and  country  any  more  truthfully  than  its  body. 
However  possible  it  may  be  to  account  for  the  art 
of  this  or  that  master  by  showing  that  it  was  the 
inevitable  product  of  "  the  race,  the  milieu  and  the 
moment,"  it  is  not  possible  so  to  account  for  his. 
His  position  is  unique  in  the  Netherlands  of  the 
seventeenth  century  as  it  is  in  the  world  at  large  and 
in  all  time.  His  art  is  almost  the  exact  antithesis 


102   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

of  that  which  was  practised  around  him,  and  coin- 
cides with  it  only  in  those  points  where  his  personal 
influence  dominated  other  painters.  Dutch  art  is 
prosaic  and  exact;  Rembrandt  is  imaginative  and 
fantastic.  Dutch  art  is  impeccable  in  draughtsman- 
ship; Rembrandt  is  slovenly  or  grotesque  in  form. 
Dutch  art  is  precious  or  brilliant  in  workmanship ; 
Rembrandt  is  rugged  and  fumbling.  Dutch  art  tells 
no  stories,  and  avoids,  particularly,  the  Bible;  Rem- 
brandt is  always  telling  stories,  and  it  is  the  Bible 
stories  that  interest  him  most  of  all.  It  is  only  in 
what  he  taught  them  of  light  and  shade  that  the 
typical  masters  of  Holland  resemble  him,  and  even 
here  the  differences  are  greater  than  the  resemblance. 
If  ever  there  was  one  in  the  world,  Rembrandt  is  the 
individual  great  man,  the  hero  in  art,  influencing 
others  far  more  than  he  was  influenced,  moulding  his 
time  rather  than  moulded  by  it. 

In  the  case  of  so  great  a  man  there  is  no  reason 
why  we  should  blink  any  of  his  defects  or  credit  him 
with  any  virtues  that  he  had  not ;  and  so,  when  Lai- 
resse,  a  contemporary  and  rival  of  that  master  of 
the  sweetly  pretty,  Van  der  Werff,  says  that  "  The 
vulgar  and  prosaic  aspects  of  a  subject  were  the 
only  ones  he  was  capable  of  noting " ;  or  when 
Ruskin  remarks  that  "  Vulgarity,  dulness  or  impiety 
will  .  .  .  always  express  themselves,  through  art, 
in  brown  and  grey,  as  in  Rembrandt,"  we  may 
admit  that  these  critics,  however  blind  to  much  else, 


REMBRANDT:     THE  DEATH  OF  THE  VIRGIN 

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THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   103 

have  indeed  seen  something  in  Rembrandt's  art  that 
explains,  if  it  does  not  justify,  their  strictures. 
Rembrandt  is  seldom  prosaic,  never  impious  or  dull, 
but  vulgar  he  often  is  with  a  quite  astounding  vul- 
garity, and  ugly  with  an  incomparable  hideousness. 
Such  nude  figures  as  he  drew  are  to  be  found  no- 
where else  in  art.  The  bandy  legs,  the  sprawling 
hands,  the  shapeless,  stumpy  bodies  of  his  Dianas 
and  Danaes,  Bathshebas  and  Susannahs,  are  a  libel 
on  humanity ;  and  it  is  no  explanation  of  them  to  tell 
us  how  difficult  it  was  to  obtain  models  in  Amster- 
dam, or  to  intimate  that  Saskia  and  Hendrickje 
were  so  made.  Let  us  rather  admit  that  he  was  in- 
different to  physical  beauty,  that  his  figures,  clothed 
or  nude,  are  often  ill-drawn,  that  elegance  was  not 
in  his  province.  A  different  man  would  have  seen 
differently  such  models  as  he  had,  and  have  found 
beauties  of  line  and  structure  in  the  poorest  of  them 
if  beauties  of  line  and  structure  were  what  he  looked 
for.  It  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon  the  deliberate 
indecencies  of  which  he  was  sometimes  guilty — wit- 
ness those  plates  of  undoubted  authenticity  cata- 
logued as  "  broad  subjects  " — or  upon  the  coarseness 
of  incident  into  which  he  was  betrayed  in  one  or 
another  more  serious  work.  Take  him  at  his  grand- 
est and  most  solemn  moments  and  he  is  capable  of 
a  meanness  and  triviality  of  type  altogether  sur- 
prising. One  of  the  most  wonderful  of  his  plates, 
superb  in  composition,  poignant  in  emotion,  is  "  The 


104   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

Death  of  the  Virgin,"  yet  the  angels  who  break 
through  the  ceiling  in  a  burst  of  light,  and  amid 
clouds  of  glory,  are  so  incredibly  grotesque  in  form 
and  feature  that,  were  it  not  for  the  rest  of  the 
picture,  one  might  be  tempted  to  suspect  deliberate 
caricature.  Then  there  is  a  smaller  and  slighter 
plate — one  of  those  amazing  pieces  of  shorthand  in 
which  an  unforgettable  scene  is  revealed,  as  it  were, 
in  a  flash  of  lightning — which  represents  "  Abraham 
Entertaining  the  Angels."  There  is  no  doubt  about 
the  seriousness  of  the  master's  mood — it  is  even  full 
of  religious  awe — but  one  of  the  angels  is  a  strange 
little  man,  fat,  and  with  a  round,  sleepy  looking  face, 
a  bald  head  and  a  sparse  beard.  The  presence  of  a 
pair  of  wings  behind  his  back  is  altogether  necessary 
to  explain  his  angelic  nature. 

If  Rembrandt  was  not,  in  the  ordinarily  accepted 
sense  of  the  term,  a  great  draughtsman,  neither  was 
he,  if  the  words  are  to  be  used  with  any  strictness, 
a  great  colourist  or  a  great  technician.  It  is  not 
merely  that  he  expressed  himself,  as  Ruskin  said, 
"  in  brown  and  grey,"  or,  to  quote  again  the  exag- 
gerated strictures  of  Lairesse,  that,  "  with  his  red 
and  yellow  tones,  he  set  the  fatal  example  of  shadows 
so  hot  they  seem  aglow,  and  colours  which  seem  to 
lie  like  liquid  mud  upon  the  canvas  " ;  it  is  that  he 
habitually  sacrificed  colour  to  chiaroscuro,  and  was 
content  to  lose  the  unity  of  a  given  colour  in  light 
and  shadow  for  the  sake  of  heightening  the  glow 


REMBRANDT:  "ABRAHAM  ENTERTAINING  THE  ANGELS" 

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THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   105 

of  the  light  or  deepening  the  gloom  of  shade.  It 
is  not  merely  that  his  rendering  of  objects  and  tex- 
tures is  rarely  so  sure,  so  adroit,  so  precise  and 
explanatory  as  that  of  Hals  or  Velasquez,  but  that, 
with  him,  the  object  often  disappears  altogether  and 
we  have,  not  a  lighted  object,  but  sheer  luminosity 
— light  for  its  own  sake,  and  with  little  regard  to 
what  it  falls  on. 

Here,  as  so  often,  it  is  necessary  to  distinguish 
between  Rembrandt  and  Rembrandt.  The  exterior 
Rembrandt — Rembrandt  the  observer,  the  trained 
painter,  the  Rembrandt  who  was  popular  in  his  own 
day  and  is  still  the  favourite  of  the  collectors,  the 
painter  of  "  The  Gilder  "  and  of  the  "  Burgomaster 
Six  " — was  a  good  draughtsman,  a  sound  colourist 
and  a  sober  and  admirable  technician.  The  other 
Rembrandt,  the  visionary,  the  seer,  the  dreamer 
of  strange  dreams,  the  worshipper  of  light,  was 
never  so  sure  of  himself.  He  fumbled  and  experi- 
mented, resorted  to  violences  of  method,  thumbed 
and  kneaded  his  material,  handled  it  across  and 
athwart.  Even  in  so  early  a  work  as  "  The  Anatomy 
Lesson  "  he  had  forgotten  the  cadaver  in  his  interest 
in  the  light  that  fell  upon  it,  and  had  produced  some- 
thing blown  and  swollen,  without  form  and  void,  but 
phosphorescent  like  a  glow-worm  in  the  dark.  When 
he  undertook  "The  Night  Watch,"  that  splendid 
failure,  where  the  dreamer  insisted  on  taking  a  hand 
in  a  work  which  demanded  the  observer  only,  his  ob- 


106   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

session  tormented  and  dominated  him.  The  render- 
ing of  the  objects  and  accoutrements,  the  sword  hilts 
and  bandoliers,  buffcoats  and  halberds,  is  not  only 
far  below  Hals's  level,  it  is  actually  clumsy  and 
blundering.  It  is  only  when  one  realises  that  the 
objects  were  nothing  to  him  in  themselves,  that  it 
is  light  he  is  after,  and  that  his  method  does  wonder- 
fully render  the  light,  that  one  begins  to  understand. 
Once  or  twice,  late  in  life,  he  manages  successfully 
to  reunite  his  two  personalities,  to  bring  to  bear 
upon  one  work  all  he  has  learned  and  all  he  has  felt, 
to  pour  the  whole  Rembrandt  upon  a  canvas,  and 
the  result  is  such  a  masterpiece  as  "  The  Syndics." 
Elsewhere  you  must  take  the  master  craftsman  and 
the  dreamer  separately — these  are  his  successes — 
or  partially  united  and  mutually  obstructive — these 
are  his  failures. 

It  is  this  almost  exclusive  preoccupation  with  light 
and  shade  that  explains  much  in  Rembrandt's  work 
which  might  otherwise  seem  inexplicable.  Chiaro- 
scuro is  his  one  great  problem,  his  one  great  means 
of  expression.  He  painted  himself  again  and  again, 
not  from  vanity,  but  because  he  could  find  no  model 
so  patient  and  so  submissive,  so  willing  to  subordi- 
nate his  own  personality  to  the  exhaustive  study  of 
lighting.  He  tricked  himself  out  in  chains  and  ear- 
rings and  gorgets  because  he  was  fascinated  by 
anything  that  glittered  and  gave  him  points  of  bril- 
liant light  to  contrast  with  the  enveloping  gloom 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   107 

i 

which  is  his  atmosphere.  His  pursuit  of  light  led 
him  to  the  denial  of  colour,  so  that  his  latest  works 
are  almost  as  uniformly  brown  as  a  photograph, 
and  to  that  system  of  rugged  surfaces  and  heavily 
loaded  pigment  which  is  the  reverse  of  the  ordinary 
procedure  of  the  Dutch  school  and  contrary  to  the 
practice  of  all  those  who  have  cared  especially  for 
the  beautiful  use  of  their  material.  It  is  light  and 
shade  that  makes  etching  as  interesting  to  him  as 
painting.  It  is  for  the  complete  expression  of  light 
and  shade  that,  at  the  height  of  his  power,  he  will 
spend  hours  of  patient  labour  in  imitating  the 
roundings  and  the  mottlings  of  a  sea  shell.  It  is 
the  suggestion  of  light  and  shade  that  makes  his 
merest  scrawl  significant.  It  is  by  light  and  shade 
he  draws,  by  light  and  shade  he  paints,  by  light  and 
shade  he  composes.  He  thinks  in  light  and  shade 
even  when  he  seems  to  be  using  pure  line.  It  is 
seldom  that  there  is  not  a  scratch  or  two  of  shadow 
or  a  blot  for  the  hollow  of  an  eye  socket  or  the  like, 
but  even  when  these  are  absent  it  is  not  the  contour 
which  he  is  drawing — his  line  follows  the  mass,  sug- 
gests the  direction  of  folds  or  the  bagging  of 
muscles,  makes  sudden  deviations,  breaks  and  con- 
tinues again,  bounds  a  mass  of  light  or  loses  itself 
where  the  swimming  shadow  would  hide  it.  The  very 
line  is  potential  light  and  shade. 

It  is  largely  his  absorption  in  light  and  shade  that 
makes  Rembrandt  so  indifferent  to  beauty  of  form — 


108   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

that  makes  him,  indeed,  care  for  form  at  all  only  as 
it  provides  surfaces  for  light  to  fall  on  and  cran- 
nies for  shadows  to  catch  in.  It  was  neither  by 
accident,  nor  altogether  from  sympathy  and  love 
of  character,  that  he  painted  so  many  old  men  and 
old  women.  When  he  was  not  deeply  romantic  and 
poetical  he  was  merely  picturesque,  and  he  loved 
wrinkles  as  he  loved  thatched  roofs,  because  they 
afford  so  many  accidents  for  the  play  of  light  and 
shade.  He  haunted  the  Jews'  quarter,  delighted  in 
beggars  and  their  rags,  screwed  his  own  face  into 
more  lines  than  the  map  of  the  Indies,  and  set  even 
his  beloved  Saskia  to  mowing  and  grimacing  that 
her  young  face  might  have  folds  enough  to  satisfy 
his  desire  of  shadows.  What  had  he  to  do  with 
classic  beauty?  His  nude  figures  are  drawn,  as  he 
drew  a  pig,  from  the  picturesque  point  of  view,  and 
the  creased  and  flabby  shapes  of  his  ugly  women 
were  better,  for  his  purpose,  than  would  have  been 
the  rounded  limbs  of  a  Greek  nymph. 

From  a  purely  technical  point  of  view,  then,  this 
is  the  supreme  distinction  of  Rembrandt:  to  have 
devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  chiaroscuro,  to  have 
sacrificed  everything  else  to  it,  to  have  attained  a 
knowledge  of  it  beyond  that  of  Tintoretto,  beyond 
that  of  Correggio,  beyond  that  of  any  one  else  be- 
fore or  since ;  to  have  made  himself,  in  this  one  branch 
of  art,  the  unapproached  and  unapproachable  mas- 
ter, and  to  have  taught  many  other  masters  the  use 


REMBRANDT:     DR.  FAUSTUS 

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THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   109 

of  a  tool  which,  while  it  would  not  do  in  their 
hands  what  it  did  in  his,  was  yet  capable  of  perform- 
ing tasks  he  had  not  set  it.  This  alone  would  be 
enough  for  the  glory  of  almost  any  artist,  but  with 
Rembrandt  light  and  shade  is  far  more  than  a  tech- 
nical accomplishment.  It  is  mystery  and  sentiment 
— a  means  of  expressing  the  inexpressible  and  of 
realising  the  supernatural — the  only  means  known 
to  art  of  saying  what  no  one  but  Rembrandt  has 
said.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the  plate  of  "Dr. 
Faustus."  One  may  not  quite  know  what  the  vision 
means,  but  that  blazing  circle  in  this  room  of  shad- 
ows means  something  as  clearly  beyond  nature  as  the 
quiet  light  of  the  window  above  is  wonted  and  usual. 
The  old  man  has  risen  and  stands  there,  leaning 
upon  his  desk,  gazing  intently,  with  head  a  little 
tilted.  He  is  not  frightened,  but  we  are.  It  is  only 
a  few  black  lines  on  a  little  square  of  white 
paper  that  we  see,  and  behold — a  miracle!  We 
are  there  in  the  room  and  the  hair  rises  upon  our 
heads. 

Or  go  into  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre  and  look 
at  a  little  picture  there — not  a  brilliant  looking  pic- 
ture, rather  snuffy  and  brown  and  insignificant  of 
aspect — a  picture  that  seems  to  have  little  deter- 
minable  form,  no  colour,  no  visible  means  of  execu- 
tion, no  comprehensible  handling.  In  a  lofty  room 
beneath  an  arch  of  stone  are  three  men  seated  at 
table  and  a  boy  who  waits  upon  them.  One  of  the 


110   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

men  looks  up  in  surprise.  In  the  second,  who  has 
his  back  toward  us,  surprise  has  dawned  into  recog- 
nition and  he  clasps  his  hands  as  in  prayer.  The 
third  is  breaking  bread.  There  is  a  dim  and  waver- 
ing aureole  about  his  head,  and  his  face  is  the  face 
of  one  who  was  dead  and  is  alive  again.  We  are 
with  the  Pilgrims  at  Emmaus. 

This  is  the  real  Rembrandt,  the  great  magician, 
the  incomparable  genius ;  the  painter  whose  vividness 
and  lucidity  of  imagination,  whose  depth  of  insight, 
whose  fulness  of  sympathy,  are  unique  in  the  art 
of  the  world.  With  such  a  man  what  would  be  faults 
in  another  sink  into  insignificance  or  become  virtues. 
His  drawing,  faulty  according  to  the  ordinary 
standards  of  correctness,  becomes  the  most  wonder- 
ful drawing  in  the  world,  for  it  is  instinct  with  life, 
and  so  expressive  that  his  countless  figures  are  doing 
whatever  they  are  about  with  an  intensity  unpar- 
alleled in  art.  His  colour,  different  though  it  be 
from  that  of  the  great  colourists,  is  that  most  wholly 
appropriate  and  necessary  to  his  thought.  His 
figures,  however  devoid  of  physical  beauty,  are  yet 
ennobled  by  the  presence  in  them  of  a  living  soul. 
His  handling,  strange  and  undecipherable  as  it  is, 
is  the  most  supple  and  obedient  of  servants.  In  his 
lifelong  observation  and  profound  study  of  things 
seen,  he  had  mastered  the  current  language  of  art 
and  could,  when  he  chose,  express  himself  in  it  with 
fluency  and  entire  propriety.  For  the  expression 


REMBRANDT:     -THE  SUPPER  AT  EMMAUS 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   111 

of  things  unseen  he  created  for  himself  a  language 
of  extraordinary  flexibility,  which  no  one  else  has 
ever  learned  to  speak. 

It  is  his  feeling  for  life,  his  imaginative  insight, 
his  tremulous  sensitiveness  and  intense  sympathy 
which  give  their  supreme  value  to  Rembrandt's  great 
portraits.  In  all  except  those  that  are  quite  evidently 
exercises  you  feel  his  attentiveness,  his  humility,  his 
lack  of  all  cleverness  or  parade  of  mastery.  He  is 
waiting,  watching,  for  the  inner  life,  the  real  in- 
dividuality, to  peep  out  in  the  face,  and  he  is  almost 
always  rewarded.  You  do  not  care  in  the  least  who 
these  people  are,  or  what  was  their  station  in  life; 
an  old-clothes  merchant,  an  aged  housekeeper,  a 
kitchen  maid,  are  as  interesting — not  more  so — as  a 
gentleman  or  a  burgomaster.  They  are  interesting 
because  they  are  intensely  human,  intensely  alive,  be- 
cause in  each  of  them  an  individual  being  with  its  own 
nature,  its  own  past,  its  own  thoughts  and  emotions, 
looks  out  of  the  eyes  and  speaks  with  the  lips.  You 
may  doubt  Rembrandt's  statements  of  mere  external 
fact;  you  may  doubt  his  delineation  of  features  and 
structure,  as  you  can  never  doubt  those  of  Frans 
Hals,  for  instance;  you  may  wonder  that  he  never 
saw  such  elegance  and  such  approach  to  beauty  as 
Ter  Borch  and  Metzu  and  Vermeer  have  shown  us; 
but  you  can  never  doubt  the  essential  fact  that  these 
people  have  lived — are  living.  This  conviction  of 
life,  of  real  existence  almost  independent  of  ordinary 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

representation,  is  such  as  none  of  these  masters,  such 
as  no  master — not  Velasquez,  not  Titian,  not  even 
Holbein  or  Raphael,  incomparable  portrait  painters 
as  they  are — has  given  us. 

There  are  many  of  these  wonderful  portraits, 
painted  at  all  periods  of  Rembrandt's  life.  Some  of 
them  are  commissions  from  well-to-do  patrons,  some 
are  evidently  painted  for  his  own  pleasure  and  from 
people  who  are  more  likely  to  have  been  paid  for 
sitting  than  to  have  paid  the  artist  for  painting 
them.  There  is  the  "  Lady  with  a  Fan  "  of  Buck- 
ingham Palace,  for  once  a  person  of  refinement  and 
distinction,  with  a  real  charm  if  no  great  beauty. 
There  are  "  Elizabeth  Bas,"  in  the  Rijks  Museum  of 
Amsterdam,  wealthy,  severe,  self-complacent,  a  not- 
able housewife,  starched  and  stiff  in  her  respecta- 
bility, and  that  beautiful,  kindly,  anxious  "  Old 
Lady  "  in  the  National  Gallery.  Then  there  is  that 
homelier  couple,  "  The  Shipbuilder  and  His  Wife," 
in  Buckingham  Palace,  and,  going  down  the  ranks 
of  human  life,  there  are  the  infinitely  pathetic  "  Old 
Woman  "  of  the  Hermitage  and  the  simple,  healthy 
"  Girl  with  a  Broom  "  of  the  same  collection.  You 
may  look  at  any  of  these  portraits  forever,  come 
back  to  them  again  and  again,  study  and  restudy 
them  and  never  tire  of  them,  never  exhaust  their 
perennial  interest.  There  is  nothing  like  them — 
there  never  will  be  anything  like  them. 

Now  and  then,  even  with  members  of  his  own  house- 


REMBRANDT:      LADY  WITH  A  FAN 


REMBRANDT:   "PORTRAIT  OP  ELIZABETH  BAS 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   113 

hold,  the  artist  forgot  his  experiments  and  produced 
portraits  of  this  quality ;  once  or  twice,  in  etching 
or  painting,  with  himself  in  his  years  of  sadness  and 
poverty;  once,  at  least,  with  Hendrickje,  in  that 
superb  portrait  in  the  Louvre  which  makes  her  a  real 
and  comprehensible  person  to  us ;  once  in  that  splen- 
did idealisation  of  youthful  beauty,  the  portrait  of 
his  son  Titus  in  the  Kann  collection.  Several  such 
portraits  we  have  in  this  country,  two  of  them,  for- 
tunately, in  public  collections  where  they  are  accessi- 
ble to  every  one — the  "  Man  with  a  Black  Hat "  in 
the  Metropolitan  Museum,  and  "  The  Orphan  "  in 
the  Art  Institute  of  Chicago.  There  are  no  more 
perfect  single  figures  than  these  in  all  Rembrandt's 
work,  and  you  must  go  to  Amsterdam  to  see,  in  the 
great  group  of  "  The  Syndics,"  anything  finer.  The 
picture  has  been  described  too  often  and  too  well 
for  me  to  describe  it  again,  and  the  photographs  of 
it  are  in  every  one's  hand.  It  is  the  final  demonstra- 
tion of  Rembrandt's  full  power  and,  unquestionably, 
the  noblest  portrait  group  ever  painted. 

It  is  the  very  humanity  and  sympathy  in  Rem- 
brandt which  made  these  portraits  possible  that  is 
the  excuse  for  his  infrequent  indecency,  his  occa- 
sional coarseness.  Life  and  character,  and  the 
expression  and  movement  of  life,  were  all  in  all  to 
him,  and  these  he  found  everywhere.  Nothing  hu- 
man was  foreign  to  him,  nothing  real  outside  his 
range  of  feeling,  and  he  could  sympathise  with  the 


114   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

amours  of  a  friar  and  a  peasant  wench  in  a  corn- 
field as  he  could  with  the  mingled  joy  and  sorrow 
of  the  father  who,  in  the  wonderful  etching,  has  out- 
stripped the  attendants  bearing  shoes  and  garments, 
and  almost  stumbles  forward  in  his  haste  to  clasp 
in  his  arms  the  hair-grown,  starving  prodigal,  kneel- 
ing there  half  naked  before  him,  the  picture  of 
misery  and  compunction.  His  very  "  vulgarity " 
and  "  triviality  "  sometimes  serve  him  marvellously 
— his  entire  absence  of  pose  or  of  any  pretence  to 
exquisiteness  of  taste.  Some  homely  incident,  that 
no  one  else  would  have  thought  of,  comes  into  his 
mind  and  is  seized  upon  and  noted  with  a  precision 
that  immediately  converts  his  imagined  scene  into 
a  thing  which  has  actually  happened,  a  thing  experi- 
enced and  observed.  In  this  very  plate  of  the 
"  Return  of  the  Prodigal "  you  see  the  old  man's 
slipper,  half  off  his  foot  and  dragging  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  that  little  accuracy  serves  to  convince 
you  of  the  veracity  of  all  the  rest.  That  was  not 
invented,  you  say — it  is  so  that  it  was. 

This  extraordinary  clarity  of  imagination,  this 
vividness  of  sight,  this  compelling  truthfulness,  is 
the  mark  of  Rembrandt  and  is  present  in  nearly  all 
his  subject  pictures,  in  nearly  all  his  etchings,  above 
all  in  his  drawings,  done  for  himself  alone  and  to 
relieve  his  mind  of  what  must  have  been  almost  hal- 
lucination. At  his  strangest,  at  his  most  grotesque, 
he  forces  you  to  believe  in  him — to  accept  his  story 


HEMBRANDT:      GIRL,  WITH  A  BROOM 


REMBRANDT:      MAN  WITH  A  BLACK  HAT 


THE    REMBRANDT    TERCENTENARY      115 

as  that  of  an  eye-witness.  When  he  is  most  happily 
inspired,  and  his  vision  most  nearly  coincides  with 
the  antecedently  acceptable,  no  one  is  so  touching 
or  so  august.  His  trick  of  reality  captures  you  and 
you  experience  to  the  full  those  emotions  which  the 
actual  events  might  have  incited.  Of  the  most  won- 
derful of  all  his  pictures,  "  The  Supper  at  Emmaus," 
I  have  already  spoken;  and  in  Fromentin  and  in  La 
Farge  you  will  find  elaborate  descriptions  of  the 
scarcely  less  wonderful  "  Good  Samaritan,"  but  there 
are  many  more  examples  of  his  way  of  translating 
Bible  stories  into  the  language  of  the  everyday  life 
about  him  and  of  making  them,  thereby,  a  thousand- 
fold more  appealing  and  more  effective.  How  many 
"  Holy  Families "  have  been  painted,  in  Italy,  in 
Germany  and  in  Flanders?  And  where  among  them 
shall  you  find  anything  like  "  The  Carpenter's 
Household  "  of  the  Louvre,  with  its  warm  interior 
bathed  in  sunshine  from  the  open  window,  the  father 
engaged  in  his  daily  labour,  the  gentle  mother  bar- 
ing her  breast  to  the  child,  the  grandmother,  homely 
old  soul,  leaning  over  the  open  Bible  in  her  lap  to 
gaze  upon  the  baby  form?  Where  shall  you  find  a 
tragic  intensity  like  that  of  "  The  Raising  of  the 
Cross  "  at  Munich,  or  a  solemn  pathos  like  that  of 
"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  in  the  same  gallery, 
with  its  pitiful,  broken  figure,  doubled  together  and 
sliding  sidewise  down  the  sheet,  ghostly  white  in  the 
moonlight,  into  the  reverent  hands  below?  But  of 


116   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

all  his  pictures  none  is  more  surprising  than  the  little 
"  Vision  of  Daniel "  at  Berlin.  The  scene  is  a  wild 
and  rocky  landscape  through  which  a  brook  cuts  its 
way  deeply.  To  the  extreme  right,  only  partially 
in  the  picture,  stands  the  "  vision,"  a  sheep  with 
many  horns  upon  its  head;  on  the  other  side  of  the 
brook,  timid,  with  reverted  eye,  kneels  Daniel,  a  curly- 
headed  youth;  behind  him  stands  an  angel,  and  it  is 
this  angel  that  is  the  picture — the  most  real,  the 
most  believable  angel  ever  painted.  Draped  in  white 
and  with  a  scarf  about  her  waist — for  surely  it  is 
a  young  girl's,  this  slender  figure — she  leans  over 
him,  infinite  tenderness  in  the  delicate  face  framed 
between  flaxen  ringlets,  and  lays  one  hand  lightly 
upon  his  shoulder  in  encouragement,  while  with  the 
other,  in  a  gesture  of  adorable  naturalness,  she  points 
to  the  vision  upon  which  she  bids  him  look.  From 
her  shoulders  springs  a  pair  of  wings,  and  such 
wings!  So  light,  so  strong,  so  quivering  with  life, 
so  obviously  a  part  of  her  and  so  necessary  to  her 
poise  and  momentary  action,  that  scepticism  is  dis- 
armed. It  is  all  very  well  to  argue  that  wings  could 
not  grow  there  and  that  she  could  not  fly  with  them 
if  they  did.  They  do  grow  there,  and  she  can  fly, 
and  there's  an  end  on't.  The  original  sketch  for 
this  composition,  in  which,  for  once,  Rembrandt 
mingles  an  ineffable  charm  with  his  usual  lucidity, 
is  in  the  collection  of  M.  Bonnat,  and  it  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  proofs  of  the  suddenness  and  com- 


-     • 


REMBRANDT:  "THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  SON" 

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REMBRANDT:  "THE  CARPENTER'S  HOUSEHOLD" 

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THE    REMBRANDT    TERCENTENARY      117 

pleteness  of  the  great  artist's  conception.  It  is  very 
slight — a  few  scratches  of  the  pen,  a  few  washes  for 
the  deeper  shadows  of  the  landscape — but  the  whole 
thing  is  there,  the  attitudes,  the  lines,  the  draperies, 
even  the  expression  of  Daniel's  face;  yet  there  are 
slight  discrepancies  that  prove  to  the  trained  eye 
that  this  is  no  copy  of  the  picture,  but  the  first 
registry  of  intention,  hot  from  the  brain  of  its 
creator. 

It  is  perhaps,  in  his  etchings  and  drawings  even 
more  than  in  his  paintings  that  Rembrandt's  mar- 
vellous fertility  of  invention  manifests  itself  most 
clearly.  Industrious  and  unremitting  in  labour  as 
he  was,  only  a  few  of  his  almost  countless  imaginings 
could  be  realised  in  painting.  Many,  and  some  of 
the  most  important  in  thought,  the  largest  in  extent 
and  in  number  of  figures,  he  chose  rather  to  carry 
out  in  the  slighter  form  of  etching.  Many  more 
seem  never  to  have  got  beyond  the  first  state  of 
expeditious  notation  of  the  idea.  And  in  all  these  in- 
ventions— one  dislikes  to  use  a  word  of  such  mechan- 
ical implication  as  compositions — we  see  how  his 
mind  turned  around  and  around  certain  subjects, 
approached  them  again  and  again  from  one  or  an- 
other side,  exhausted  their  possibilities.  There  are 
the  Old  Testament  stories  of  Abraham  and  Isaac, 
of  Lot,  and  of  Joseph,  there  are  the  Book  of  Job 
and  the  Parables,  of  which  he  never  wearied.  Above 
all  there  is  the  Life  of  Christ,  and  there  is  the 


118   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

apocryphal  Book  of  Tobit,  which  seems  specially  to 
have  haunted  him.  From  these  two  stories  he  could 
not  escape  until  their  every  phase  had  been  illus- 
trated with  his  indubitable  veracity.  And  always  he 
approaches  these  subjects  from  the  Bible  in  this 
new  way  of  his  own.  He  is  not  concerned  with 
ecclesiastical  decoration  or  with  aesthetic  propriety 
— still  less  with  pious  revery  or  aids  to  devotion. 
What  occupied  him  is  the  thought  of  how  things 
might  really  have  happened,  of  how  they  would  have 
looked  to  one  who  was  there,  of  how  he  himself  or 
his  neighbours  would  have  felt  about  them.  He 
could  not  have  understood  that  modern  doctrine  of 
criticism  which  decries  the  art  that  tells  a  story  or 
depicts  an  incident — he  would  have  gloried  in  being 
what  he  was,  the  greatest  of  illustrators. 

Something  I  have  already  said  about  one  or  two 
of  these  illustrations  of  the  Bible.  The  great  plates 
of  "  Christ  Healing  the  Sick  "  and  "  Christ  Preach- 
ing "  are  known  to  every  one.  But  there  are  other 
and  less  universally  known  chapters  in  Rembrandt's 
Life  of  Christ  that  are  equally  ineffaceable  from  the 
memory.  There  is  the  plate  known  as  the  "  Little 
Raising  of  Lazarus,"  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
earlier,  perhaps  doubtful,  plate  which  is  more  fre- 
quently seen.  Here,  as  ever,  the  Christ  is  quite 
undistinguished,  rather  mean  of  aspect;  and  his  ex- 
pression is  less  deeply  studied  than  usual.  The 
spectators  are  variously  interested  or  astonished. 


REMBRANDT:     THE  LITTLE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS 

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THE    REMBRANDT    TERCENTENARY      119 

All  this  is  good,  but  it  is  not  this  which  one  remem- 
bers. What  is  unforgettable  is  the  sidewise  lurch 
of  the  dead  man  as  he  raises  himself  on  one  elbow 
from  the  tomb,  the  inquiring  gaze  of  his  sunken 
eyes,  fixed  upon  his  master,  his  hollow  cheek  and 
relaxed  jaw.  And  all  this  is  indicated  with  a  few 
loose  scratches,  kept  intentionally  thin  and  delicate 
that  they  may  not  interfere  with  the  whiteness  of 
the  paper  which  stands  for  the  concentration  of 
light  upon  this  part  of  the  subject.  There  is  the 
"  Christ  Presented  to  the  People,"  with  its  unwonted 
pomp  of  arrangement  and  monumental  dignity,  with 
its  vividly  seen  crowd  in  the  foreground  which,  alter- 
ing his  idea  as  he  rarely  did,  Rembrandt  was  content 
to  efface  that  the  grandeur  and  pathos  of  the  bound 
figure  of  the  Redeemer  might  be  heightened.  There 
is  the  "  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  at  night  by  torch- 
light, the  limp  figure  still  attached  to  the  cross  by 
one  bleeding  foot,  the  whole  composition  built  upon 
and  determined  by  the  long  stretcher  which  crosses 
the  foreground  and  which  Joseph  of  Arimathea  or 
Nicodemus  is  covering  with  a  white  sheet  that  it 
may  receive  the  beloved  remains. 

As  a  last  instance  of  the  vigour  of  imagination 
shown  in  the  etchings,  let  us  take  a  plate  from  another 
cycle,  the  "  Tobit  Blind."  The  scene  is  a  homely 
Dutch  interior,  with  a  great  open  fireplace  where 
fishes  are  drying  in  the  smoke,  and  Tobit's  armchair 
stands  in  the  chimney  corner.  The  old  man,  in  gown 


120   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

and  slippers,  has  risen  hastily,  hearing  without  the 
step  or  voice  of  his  long-absent  son,  and  is  groping 
for  the  door.  In  his  agitation  his  sense  of  direction 
has  failed  him,  and  he  will  not  reach  it.  He  has 
overset  his  wife's  spinning  wheel,  which  lies  on  the 
floor  behind  him.  But  the  little  dog,  the  faithful 
companion  of  Tobias  in  all  his  adventures,  has  out- 
stripped his  master  and  fawns  at  the  blind  man's 
feet.  It  is  a  little  bit  of  truth  so  admirably  observed, 
so  perfectly  rendered,  set  down  with  such  economy 
of  means — no  line  or  touch  that  does  not  carry — 
that  it  alone  were  sufficient  to  proclaim  its  designer 
a  master  of  the  highest  rank. 

This,  however,  is  a  conscious  work  of  art,  ad- 
dressed to  the  public,  meant  to  be  seen,  and  it  is, 
perhaps,  in  his  drawings,  made  for  himself  alone 
and  meant  for  no  other  eyes,  that  Rembrandt's  mar- 
vellous shorthand,  and  the  fecundity  of  his  genius, 
are  most  apparent.  Here  are  picture  after  picture, 
each  fully  conceived,  present  to  his  mind  in  every 
detail,  ready  to  paint.  He  has  set  them  down  in 
scrawls  and  blots  and  dashes,  almost  illegible,  at 
first  sight,  to  others  than  himself,  yet  needing  only 
a  little  good  will  on  our  part,  the  sending  forth  of 
our  own  imagination  to  meet  his,  to  reveal  themselves 
as  perfect.  The  rest  is  but  a  matter  of  time  and 
opportunity.  Some  day,  when  he  has  the  leisure,  he 
will  paint  or  etch  them!  But  there  are  so  many 
more  ideas  than  days  that  the  leisure  never  comes 


REMBRANDT:     THE  DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS  — NIGHT  PIECE 

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REMBRANDT:  "TOBIT  BLIND" 

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THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY   121 

and  the  most  part  of  them  have  remained  forever 
in  the  form  of  hints  and  projects. 

A  whole  set  of  them  deals  with  Tobit  and  his  son 
Tobias,  with  the  angel,  and  the  never-forgotten  dog. 
There  is  the  departure,  with  the  mother  spinning, 
the  father,  who  seems  to  be  recommending  the  angel 
to  take  good  care  of  his  son,  the  son  himself,  turn- 
ing his  hat  in  his  hand  and  looking  somewhat  sheep- 
ish, and  the  dog  jumping  upon  him  in  joy  of  the 
anticipated  outing.  But  for  the  wings  of  the  angel 
— always  those  wonderful  wings  such  as  no  one  else 
ever  drew — it  might  be  a  little  scene  of  domestic 
genre,  such  as  one  of  our  own  painters  has  entitled 
"  Breaking  Home  Ties."  Then  there  is  the  journey, 
with  the  companions,  angelic  and  human,  walking 
amicably  together  and  talking  as  they  go,  while  the 
dog  runs  on  before  them.  There  is  the  fish  leaping 
from  the  water  and  startling  Tobias  into  the  loss 
of  his  hat,  the  angel,  meanwhile,  bidding  him  not  to 
be  afraid;  and  there  is  the  cutting  up  of  the  fish, 
the  angel  looking  on  with  absorbed  interest,  while 
the  dog  profits  by  the  occasion  to  take  a  drink 
from  the  brook.  There  is  the  healing  of  the  father's 
sight,  Tobias  and  his  mother  busy  and  anxious,  the 
angel  somewhat  unconcerned,  as  sure  of  the  result. 
Finally,  there  is  the  vanishing  of  the  angel,  the  whole 
family  prostrating  themselves  in  prayer  as  they 
recognise,  at  last,  his  heavenly  nature.  In  all  the 
series  there  is  the  same  homeliness,  the  same  felicitous 


122   THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

notation  of  gesture  and  expression,  the  same  sym- 
pathy and  the  same  emotion ;  and  each  produces  the 
same  conviction  of  entire  reality.  It  is  so  that  the 
thing  must  have  happened;  it  could  not  have  hap- 
pened otherwise. 

The  same  qualities  are  to  be  found  in  many  other 
drawings,  in  "  Joseph  Comforting  the  Prisoners," 
in  "  Job  and  His  Friends,"  in  "  Lot  and  His  Fam- 
ily." The  latter  drawing  is  as  remarkable  as  any- 
thing even  Rembrandt  ever  did.  The  whole  family 
is  "  moving  out "  carrying  its  possessions.  The 
father  is  lamenting,  the  daughters  are  sad,  the  maids 
unconcerned;  but  Lot's  wife,  aged  and  leaning  on 
a  stick,  walks  on  in  stony  silence  and  turns  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  angel  who  points  out  the  way.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  see  who  it  is  that  will  disobey  the  divine 
command  not  to  look  back. 

There  are  others  and  others.  In  his  forty  years 
of  unremitting  labour  Rembrandt  produced  about 
four  hundred  and  fifty  paintings  that  we  know,  two 
hundred  and  sixty  to  two  hundred  and  seventy  etch- 
ings, and  nearly  nine  hundred  drawings  and  sketches 
of  one  sort  or  another  that  have  been  preserved. 
How  much  more  he  may  have  done  that  is  lost  or 
destroyed  one  may  only  imagine.  Of  this  vast  out- 
put of  paintings,  etchings,  drawings,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible that  all  should  be  of  equal  value.  There  are 
plates  and  pictures,  among  his  earlier  works  espe- 
cially, that  are  deliberately  picturesque  or  partly 


REMBRANDT:      TOBIAS  ALARMED  AT  THE  SIGHT  OF  THE  FISH 


THE  REMBRANDT  TERCENTENARY 

theatrical,  compositions  that  are  built  up  rather  than 
truly  imagined.  On  the  other  hand  there  are  sketches 
of  no  particular  subject,  a  woman  in  bed,  an  old 
man  praying,  a  lame  man  in  the  street,  or  rough 
notes  of  animals,  a  lion,  an  elephant,  that  are  as 
full  of  his  particular  insight,  his  penetrating  imag- 
ination, as  are  his  greatest  inventions.  He  could 
even  make  inanimate  objects,  an  old  coach  or  a  piece 
of  furniture,  permanently  interesting  to  us.  In  the 
contemplation  of  his  creations  all  questions  of  tech- 
nique or  of  taste  finally  fall  away  and  become  un- 
important, and  we  are  face  to  face  with  a  great 
intellect,  a  profoundly  human  soul,  a  visionary  who, 
as  he  grew  older  in  years,  in  experience,  in  sorrow, 
and  in  the  sympathy  which  is  the  fruit  of  experience 
and  of  sorrow,  came  more  and  more  to  "  dream 
true  " ;  a  spirit  worthy  to  rank  beside  that  of  another 
great  man  whose  name  I  have  already  coupled  with 
his,  beside  that  of  Shakespeare.  If  I  have  attempted 
the  impossible  in  this  effort  to  give  some  idea  in  words 
of  the  character  of  a  genius  only  to  be  appreciated 
after  deep  study  of  the  works  themselves  in  which 
it  is  revealed,  I  may,  at  least,  be  grateful  for  the 
opportunity  of  laying  my  humble  tribute  before 
one  who  was  not  only  one  of  the  immortal  masters 
of  the  art  I  too  practise,  but  was  one  of  the  supreme 
poets  of  all  time. 


REMBRANDT:     TOBIAS  AND  THE  ANGEL 


I  i 

£     C 


1 1 


VI 
RODIN 


RODIN 

NO  other  living  artist  is  so  much  written 
about  as  Auguste  Rodin,  no  one  has  been 
so  discussed,  so  vehemently  damned  or  so 
extravagantly  praised.  M.  Mauclair,  in  his  recent 
book  on  that  sculptor,  gives  a  two-page  bibliography 
which  pretends  to  deal  only  with  the  most  significant 
writings,  and  Mr.  Brownell,  in  the  newer  editions  of 
his  "  French  Art,"  first  published  nearly  fifteen  years 
ago,  has  added  so  much  to  the  already  dispropor- 
tionate space  allotted  to  one  artist  that  all  the  art 
of  France  seems  but  a  preface  to  that  of  Rodin. 
No  negligible  or  mediocre  personality  ever  evoked 
such  a  storm  of  conflicting  opinion,  and  the  very 
existence  of  such  a  body  of  literature  attests  the 
importance  of  the  subject.  Not  so  much  what  is 
said  by  admirers  or  detractors  as  the  fact  that  it 
is  said  at  all,  may  be  taken  to  prove  that  Rodin  is  a 
great  sculptor;  but  we  should  like  more  light  than 
is  afforded  us  as  to  the  kind  of  his  greatness.  Its 
degree  may  be — must  be — left  to  the  future  to  de- 
termine. Some  day,  when  the  fighting  is  all  over, 
the  world  will  decide  just  where  it  ranks,  as  a  perma- 
nent addition  to  its  treasury  of  enjoyment,  the  works 
which  will  then  be  definitely  classed  and  enumerated. 

127 


128  RODIN 

What  might  be  possible  now  is  a  discussion,  divested 
of  partisanship,  of  the  essential  character  of  these 
works  and  of  the  talent  which  produced  them — a 
discussion  that  should  occupy  itself  less  with  esti- 
mating how  far  Rodin  has  succeeded  than  with  defin- 
ing what  he  attempts ;  that  should  be  more  concerned 
with  his  direction  than  with  the  distance  he  has 
travelled. 

Such  a  discussion  properly  demands  many  more 
qualifications  than  belong  to  the  present  writer. 
Besides  such  general  characteristics  as  are  necessary 
to  any  profitable  criticism  of  art,  its  undertaker 
should  possess  a  real  and  practical  acquaintance  with 
the  technique  of  sculpture,  a  complete  familiarity 
with  the  whole  of  Rodin's  work,  and  some  personal 
knowledge  of  the  man,  his  temperament,  his  ideas, 
his  methods.  Some  of  these  qualifications  have  been 
possessed  by  critics  who  have  already  written  on 
Rodin,  but  all  of  them  by  none.  Mr.  Brownell  is  a 
man  of  high  intelligence  and  large  impartiality,  and 
his  chapters  on  Rodin  are,  in  some  ways,  the  best 
that  have  been  written,  showing  a  real  intellectual 
grasp  of  the  meaning  of  Rodin's  art  and  its  rela- 
tion to  the  art  of  others ;  but,  to  an  artist,  he  seems 
to  dwell  too  much  in  a  region  of  abstractions,  to  be 
too  aloof  from  the  concrete,  too  detached  from  the 
actual.  One  gets,  somehow,  the  impression  that  for 
him  a  work  of  art  is  a  thought  rather  than  a  thing 
— to  be  contemplated,  not  to  be  seen  or  touched  or 


RODIN  129 

handled.  The  vigorous,  full-blooded,  almost  vio- 
lently sensual  art  of  Rodin  is  transformed,  in  his 
pages,  into  something  making  no  appeal  to  the 
senses,  having  no  substance,  conditioned  not  upon 
clay  or  marble,  but  only  on  a  mental  attitude.  M. 
Mauclair  is  a  personal  friend  of  Rodin's,  and,  to 
some  extent,  the  mouthpiece  of  Rodin's  own  ideas ; 
but  he  is  an  extreme  partisan,  blind  to  all  other  merit 
than  that  of  his  hero,  admiring  him  without  limit 
or  distinction.  No  one  gives  us  quite  what  we  want, 
and  we  must  make  our  picture  as  best  we  can,  from 
such  material  as  we  can  get  hold  of,  with  the  aid 
of  such  talent  and  knowledge  as  we  possess.  Out 
of  scraps  and  odds  and  ends,  by  reading  in  and 
between  the  lines  of  what  has  been  written,  by  study 
of  a  few  works  and  of  the  photographs  of  others, 
by  supplementing  a  scanty  enough  knowledge  of  the 
methods  of  sculpture  by  a  larger  knowledge  of  art 
in  general,  one  may  make  out  for  oneself  some  tol- 
erably clear  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  man 
Rodin  and  of  the  tendency  and  character  of  his  art. 
We  want  a  word  which  shall  express,  with  regard 
to  the  art  of  sculpture,  some  such  precise  notion  as 
is  conveyed  with  regard  to  the  art  of  painting,  by 
the  word  painter.  When  we  say  of  any  artist  that 
he  is  specially  and  exclusively  a  painter,  every  one 
knows  at  once  what  we  mean.  Such  an  artist  readily 
takes  his  place  on  one  side  of  any  of  the  great 
dividing  lines  which  separate  artists  into  two  classes. 


130  RODIN 

He  is  romantic  rather  than  classic  in  his  temper, 
realist  rather  than  idealist  in  his  attitude  toward 
nature,  occupied  with  representation  rather  than 
with  design.  He  will  care  more  for  truth  than 
beauty,  or,  if  you  like  it  better,  more  for  the  beauty 
of  the  actual  than  for  the  abstract  beauty  of  har- 
monies and  proportions ;  he  will  care,  above  all,  for 
his  craft,  and  delight  in  felicities  of  rendering  and 
the  intrinsic  qualities  of  his  material.  It  does  not 
seem  possible  to  use  the  word  sculptor  in  a  similar 
sense;  it  is  either  too  wide  or  too  narrow  in  its 
meaning  and,  if  we  try  to  restrict  it  at  all,  begins  to 
signify  the  mere  carver  of  stone.  Perhaps  the  near- 
est word  to  express  such  a  master  of  representation 
and  of  his  tools,  in  sculpture,  as  was  Frans  Hals  in 
painting,  is  modeller ;  and  in  the  sense  in  which  Hals 
was  one  of  the  greatest  of  painters,  Rodin  is  a  pro- 
digious modeller — one  of  the  greatest  modellers  that 
ever  lived. 

All  that  we  know  of  Rodin's  person,  his  tempera- 
ment, his  training,  lead  us  to  expect  just  this  type 
of  artist.  His  portraits  show  us  a  man  of  great 
physical  force,  of  abounding  vitality,  of  rather 
narrow  intellect — a  bull-necked,  full-blooded,  strong- 
bearded  person  whose  heavy,  projecting  brow,  over 
small,  keen  eyes,  bespeaks  unusual  powers  of  observa- 
tion, whose  great,  thick  nose  and  heavy  jaw  show 
determination  and  force  of  will;  a  man  made  to  see 
clearly  and  to  see  deep,  and  with  infinite  patience 


RODIX:        THE   AGE   OF   BROXZE 


RODIN  131 

and  dogged  perseverance  to  render  what  he  sees 
completely ;  a  man  who  could  give  three  months'  work 
to  a  leg  in  order  to  "  possess "  it ;  a  man  with  a 
passionate  love  for  nature  and  a  firm  grip  of  his 
materials,  born  with  a  delight  in  the  use  of  hands 
and  eyes,  a  natural  workman.  And  a  workman  all 
his  training  tended  to  make  him.  Born  in  1840,  in 
humble  circumstances,  he  began  the  study  of  art  and 
the  earning  of  a  living  at  about  the  age  of  fourteen, 
working  with  a  modeller  of  ornaments,  drawing  in 
the  classes  of  the  rue  de  VEcole  de  Medecine,  study- 
ing animals  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  under  Barye. 
Then  he  worked  six  years  as  an  assistant  with  Car- 
rier-Belleuse,  trying  meanwhile  for  admission  to  the 
Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  and  being  thrice  refused.  After 
that  he  worked  six  or  seven  years  in  Brussels,  how 
far  independently,  how  far  as  a  sort  of  assistant  to 
Van  Rasbourg  it  is  difficult  to  judge  from  the  infor- 
mation afforded  us.  During  his  apprenticeship  with 
Carrier-Belleuse,  at  least,  and  probably  afterwards, 
he  had  no  responsibility  for  the  design,  no  cause  to 
think  much  of  composition.  His  whole  time  and  his 
whole  effort  were  devoted  to  the  study  of  nature  and 
the  mastering  of  his  tools.  The  only  piece  of  orig- 
inal work  of  these  years  that  we  know  of  is  the  head 
called  "  The  Man  with  the  Broken  Nose,"  which  was 
refused  by  the  Salon  Jury  of  1864  and  accepted  by 
that  of  1876.  He  sent  nothing  else  to  the  Salon 
until  he  was  thirty-seven  years  old,  when  he  was 


132  RODIN 

represented  there  by  the  celebrated  "  Age  of  Bronze." 
During  this  long  period  he  had  gained,  as  the  sculp- 
tor Boucher  testified,  a  wonderful  facility,  and  was 
capable  of  improvising  a  group  of  children  in  a  few 
hours,  but  he  was  still  earning  his  living  by  working 
for  other  men.  If  he  had  died  at  forty,  few  of  the 
characteristic  works  by  which  we  know  him  would 
exist. 

Every  one  knows  how  the  "  Age  of  Bronze  "  was 
attacked  by  sculptors  who  had  never  heard  of  Rodin 
and  could  not  believe  in  his  ability,  and  how  he  was 
accused  of  having  made  up  his  figure  out  of  casts 
from  nature.  The  very  accusation  was  a  testimony 
to  its  merits,  as  the  partisans  of  the  sculptor  an- 
nounce with  sufficient  emphasis,  but  it  was  also  a  criti- 
cism. It  is  a  statue  that  looks  like  a  cast  from 
nature,  and  this  not  only  because  it  is  consummately 
realistic  in  its  modelling,  but  because  it  is  nothing 
else.  If  there  is  work  that  is  too  inefficient,  too  lack- 
ing in  structure  and  solidity,  ever  to  be  taken  for  a 
casting  from  life,  so  also  there  is  work  too  evidently 
designed  and  composed  or  too  grandly  synthetised  to 
be  so  mistaken.  No  one  has  ever  imagined  that 
Michelangelo's  "Night"  or  the  "  Ilissus "  of  the 
Parthenon  was  made  up  of  castings.  The  "  Age  of 
Bronze  "  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  study  of 
an  individual  model.  Its  attitude,  so  far  as  one  can 
see,  has  neither  special  significance  nor  great  decora- 
tive beauty,  but  it  brings  out  the  structure  of  the 


RODIN  133 

figure  in  an  interesting  way,  and  on  the  expression 
of  that  structure  the  sculptor  has  spent  all  his 
energy.  The  name  is  probably  an  afterthought  and 
might  as  well  be  anything  else.  What  he  wanted  was 
to  model  the  nude  figure  of  the  young  Belgian  soldier 
who  posed  for  him  as  well  as  it  could  be  modelled, 
and  he  has  done  it  marvellously  well.  In  its  way  it 
is  a  masterpiece,  but  it  is  a  masterpeice  neither  of 
conception  nor  of  design,  but  only  of  workmanship. 
Many  of  Donatello's  statues  are  little  more,  and  they 
alone  would  cause  him  to  be  remembered.  Much 
such  another  work  was  the  "  St.  John  Baptist " 
of  a  few  years  later,  an  older  and  heavier  figure, 
closely  studied  from  the  life,  in  a  pose  that  seems 
to  have  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  anatomical 
display — a  portrait  of  an  ordinary  model,  clumsy 
and  ugly,  but  superbly  done. 

In  the  meantime  the  artist  had  been  offered  a  gov- 
ernment commission,  and,  we  are  told,  answered :  "  I 
am  ready  to  fulfil  it.  But  to  prove  that  I  do 'not 
take  casts  from  the  life,  I  will  make  little  bas-reliefs 
— an  immense  work  with  small  figures,  and  I  think 
of  taking  the  subject  from  Dante."  Thus  was  begun 
those  "  Gates  of  Hell "  on  which  Rodin  has  been  at 
work  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  which  are  not  yet 
finished,  which,  likely  enough,  never  will  be  finished. 
They  are  talked  of  and  written  of,  but  no  photo- 
graph of  the  composition  as  a  whole  has  ever  been 
published  and  the  public  knows  them  only  in  frag- 


RODIN 

ments — this  figure  and  that  group  separately  com- 
pleted and  exhibited.  For  nearly  all  the  sculptor's 
smaller  works  are  connected  in  some  way  with  this 
great  undertaking.  He  has  made  of  it,  as  M.  Mau- 
clair  says,  "  the  central  motive  of  all  his  dreams,  the 
storehouse  of  his  ideas  and  researches."  He  himself 
calls  it  "  my  Noah's  Ark." 

It  is  in  some  of  these  fragments  of  the  great  gates, 
these  single  groups  or  figures,  that  Rodin's  very 
great  talent  shows  at  its  best,  that  his  qualities  are 
most  conspicuous  and  his  defects  least  aggressive. 
Considered  in  themselves,  and  without  reference  to 
the  purpose  they  were  originally  destined  to  fulfil 
as  parts  of  a  greater  whole,  they  are  among  the 
most  admirable  things  in  modern  art.  One  of  them, 
the  so-called  "  Daniad,"  I  remember  well,  and  it  seems 
to  me  typical  of  Rodin's  art  in  its  highest  develop- 
ment. It  represents  a  single  female  figure  about  half 
the  size  of  life,  fallen  forward  in  an  odd,  crouching 
attitude  sufficiently  expressive  of  utter  despair  or  of 
extreme  physical  lassitude.  The  figure  is  a  slight 
one,  and  the  attitude,  which  is  not  without  a  strange 
grace  of  its  own,  throws  into  strong  relief  the  bony 
structure  of  the  pelvis,  the  shoulder  blades,  the  verte- 
brae. One  feels  that  it  was  chosen  mainly  for  that 
purpose,  and,  in  face  of  the  result,  one  does  not 
resent  the  fact.  It  is  a  fragment — a  thing  made  to 
be  seen  near  at  hand,  to  be  walked  around,  to  be 
looked  at  from  a  hundred  points  of  view,  to  be  almost 


RODIN  135 

handled.  It  is  not  necessary  that  it  should  make 
pretence  to  monumental  composition  or  decorative 
fitness — its  beauty  is  intrinsic.  It  is  a  piece  of  pure 
sculpture,  of  modelling,  as  I  have  said,  and  such 
modelling  has  scarce  been  seen  elsewhere,  unless  in 
one  or  two  of  the  greatest  of  those  figures  which  we 
associate  with  the  name  of  Phidias.  Unlike  the 
Greeks,  however,  Rodin  makes  no  effort  to  raise  his 
figure  into  an  ideal  type  of  human  beauty,  or  even  to 
choose  it  for  any  special  perfection  of  proportion. 
In  this  instance  it  is  not  an  ugly  figure,  it  is  even 
above  the  average — a  good  figure  as  figures  go — but 
the  beauty  inherent  in  construction,  in  the  make  of 
the  human  figure  as  a  figure  is  what  interests  the 
artist.  It  is  the  interpretation  of  such  natural 
beauty  as  may  be  seen  everywhere  and  any  day,  by 
any  one  with  the  eyes  to  see  it,  that  he  has  given  us. 
But  it  is  an  interpretation,  not  a  copy.  Apart 
from  the  scale,  there  could  never  be  any  question 
here  of  casts  from  nature.  There  is  no  insistence 
on  detail,  no  worrying  or  niggling.  Everything  is 
largely  done,  with  profound  knowledge,  the  result 
of  thousands  of  previous  observations,  and  the  sig- 
nificance of  every  quarter  inch  of  surface  is  amazing. 
Such  discrimination  of  hard  and  soft,  of  bone  and 
muscle  and  flesh  and  skin,  such  sense  of  stress  and 
tension  where  the  tissues  are  tightly  drawn  over  the 
framework  beneath,  such  sense  of  weight  where  they 
drag  away  from  it — all  this  is  beyond  description  as 


136  RODIN 

it  is  beyond  praise.  And  it  is  all  done  with  admira- 
ble reticence,  without  the  slightest  insistence  or  exag- 
geration, and  with  such  a  feeling  for  the  nature  of 
the  material  employed  that  the  marble  seems  caressed 
into  breathing  beauty,  its  delicate  bosses  and  hollows 
so  faintly  accented  that  the  eye  alone  is  hardly 
adequate  to  their  perception  and  the  finger  tips 
fairly  tingle  with  the  desire  of  touch.  In  the  pres- 
ence of  such  a  work  one  half  understands  how  its 
author  could  refer,  almost  contemptuously,  to  the 
great  Michelangelo  as  to  one  who  "  used  to  do  a 
little  anatomy  evenings,  and  used  his  chisel  next  day 
without  a  model." 

When,  however,  one  comes  to  consider  this  figure, 
and  others  like  it,  as  parts  of  the  design  of  the  great 
gates,  one  is  puzzled.  Here  is  an  entirely  realised 
figure  in  the  round,  not  a  bas-relief,  and  indeed  one 
knows  no  piece  of  work  by  Rodin  that  is  in  either 
high  or  low  relief;  they  are  all  practically  detached. 
It  melts  into  or  grows  out  of  its  base  in  a  manner 
that  is  charming,  considered  in  itself,  as  if  the  stone 
were  coming  to  life  under  our  gaze  and  the  process 
were  not  yet  quite  completed ;  but  how  could  it  be  a 
part  of  any  ordered  design  for  a  bronze  door?  And 
would  the  bronze  have  these  rough  excrescences  that 
seem  natural  enough  as  a  part  of  the  marble  not 
quite  cut  away — a  part  of  the  shell  in  which  the 
living  figure  was  enclosed,  still  remaining  as  a  testi- 
mony of  its  origin  ?  If  it  were  not  for  unimpeachable 


RODIN  137 

testimony  that  the  "  Gates  of  Hell "  do  actually 
exist  in  the  form  of  a  rough  model,  one  would  be 
tempted  to  think  of  them  as  a  myth,  like  Turner's 
"  Fallacies  of  Hope,"  a  convenient  explanation  of 
such  fragments  as  might  otherwise  seem  unaccount- 
able. Even  Mr.  Brownell,  who  will  not  admit  that 
Rodin  is  not  a  great  composer,  does  allow  that 
he  is  not  a  composer  first  of  all  and  by  nature,  and 
says  of  the  design  of  these  very  gates,  "  if  Rodin 
had  been  as  instinctively  drawn  to  the  ensemble  as  he 
was  to  its  elements,  he  would  not  have  been  so  long  in 
executing  it."  It  is  the  belief  that  Rodin  is  not 
only  not  a  designer  by  nature,  but  that  he  has  an 
innate  incapacity  for  design  on  a  large  scale,  a  lack 
of  the  architectonic  faculty,  an  inability  to  think 
except  in  fragments,  that  leads  some  of  us  to  imagine 
that  the  gates  never  will  be  completed — that  they 
are  incapable  of  completion  because  they  have  never 
been  really  conceived  as  a  whole.  It  is  interesting  to 
note  how  the  method  of  work  upon  them  is  described 
by  so  ardent  an  admirer  as  M.  Mauclair. 

"  He  is  continually  putting  in  little  figures  which 
replace  others,"  we  are  told ;  "  there,  plastered  into 
the  niches  left  by  unfinished  figures,  he  places  every- 
thing that  he  improvises,  everything  that  seems  to 
him  to  correspond  in  character  and  subject  with 
that  vast  confusion  of  human  passions."  And  again, 
"  he  will  be  forever  improvising  some  little  figure, 
shaping  the  notation  of  some  feeling,  idea  or  form, 


138  RODIN 

and  this  he  plants  in  his  door,  studies  it  against  the 
other  figures,  then  takes  it  out  again,  and,  if  need 
be,  breaks  it  up  and  uses  the  fragments  for  other 
attempts  .  .  .  if  it  were  to  be  carried  out  it 
could  not  contain  all  the  figures  destined  for  it  by 
the  artist.  There  they  stand,  innumerable,  ranged 
on  shelves  beside  the  rough  model  of  the  door,  repre- 
senting the  entire  evolution  of  Rodin's  inspiration, 
and  forming  what  I  call,  with  his  consent,  '  the  diary 
of  his  life  as  a  sculptor.' '  Could  one  conceive  a 
clearer  picture  of  the  worker  with  no  general  plan, 
with  no  definite  conception  of  an  ensemble?  Can  one 
imagine  Ghiberti  working  so  on  his  "  Gates  of  Para- 
dise "  ?  After  this  we  are  scarcely  surprised  to  be 
told  that  the  artist  who  works  in  this  confused  and 
tentative  manner,  "  never  troubling  himself  about  the 
architecture  of  the  actual  scheme,"  has  not  even  set- 
tled on  the  scale  and  dimensions  of  the  final  render- 
ing, and,  having  carried  out  "  The  Thinker  "  larger 
than  life,  "  is  credited  with  an  intention  of  bringing 
up  all  the  other  figures  to  the  same  dimensions,  which 
would  represent  an  unheard-of  outlay  and  a  gate 
nearly  a  hundred  feet  high."  The  original  commis- 
sion for  a  door  for  the  Musee  des  Art  Decor  attfs 
seems  thus  altogether  lost  sight  of,  and  when  we  are 
finally  told  that  "  if  ever  Government  should  require 
him  to  deliver  his  work  he  would  be  able  to  do  so 
without  delay,"  we  receive  the  assurance  with  a  cer- 
tain incredulity. 


RODIN:     THE  THINKER 


RODIN  139 

Or  take  the  "  Burghers  of  Calais,"  a  work  actually 
completed  and  now  in  place.  Even  Mr.  Brownell 
admits  that  "  its  defiance  of  convention  seems  a  ou- 
trance  "  and  speaks  of  the  "  apparent  helter-skelter  " 
of  its  composition,  but  he  thinks  the  defiance  of  con- 
vention deliberate,  the  work  of  a  man  impatient  of 
"  the  simple  and  elementary  symmetry  of  the  Medi- 
cean  tombs  "  and  composing  in  a  new  and  daring 
way.  Was  it  ever  composed  at  all,  except  in  the 
sense  that  the  assemblage  of  individually  conceived 
and  executed  figures  is  necessarily  an  act  of  compo- 
sition? The  work  had  been  in  progress  for  some 
years ;  some,  at  least,  of  the  figures,  had  been  ex- 
hibited separately  and  praised  or  blamed;  but  the 
group  as  a  whole  was  shown  for  the  first  time  at  a 
special  exhibition  in  the  Petit  Gallery  in  1889.  In 
the  catalogue  of  that  exhibition  was  an  elaborate 
description  of  the  group,  prepared,  surely,  with 
Rodin's  authorisation,  and,  at  least,  published  with 
his  consent,  in  which  the  order  and  relative  position 
of  the  figures  was  entirely  different  from  that  actu- 
ally to  be  seen  in  the  group  itself.  It  may  have  been 
a  blunder,  though  it  is  a  nearly  inconceivable  one, 
but  I  have  always  believed  that  Rodin  himself  had 
found  that  his  figures  composed  better  in  another 
order  than  that  which  he  had  vaguely  intended,  and 
that  he  changed  the  position  of  them  when  he  came 
to  bring  them  together.  One  may  like  or  dislike  these 
figures ;  one  may  be  troubled  by  their  colossal  hands 


140  RODIN 

and  feet  and  gorilla-like  type  of  head,  or  one  may 
accept  these  things  as  part  of  their  expression;  one 
may  find  their  enigmatic  gestures  either  meaningless 
or  full  of  meaning.  One  cannot  deny  that  they  are 
works  of  great  power,  but  it  seems  to  me  equally 
impossible  to  maintain  that  they  form  a  coherent  and 
well  thought-out  design. 

It  was  the  work  which  Rodin  had  done  up  to  that 
time — the  work  we  have  been  discussing — which  led 
Mr.  Brownell,  in  1892,  to  write  as  follows : 

"  What  insipid  fragments  most  of  the  really 
eminent  Institute  statues  would  make  were  their  heads 
knocked  off  by  some  band  of  modern  barbarian  in- 
vaders. In  the  event  of  such  an  irruption,  would 
there  be  any  torsos  left  from  which  future  Poussins 
could  learn  all  they  should  know  of  the  human  form  ? 
Would  there  be  any  disjecta  membra  from  which 
skilled  anatomists  could  reconstruct  the  lost  ensemble, 
or  at  any  rate  make  a  shrewd  guess  at  it?  Would 
anything  survive  mutilation  with  the  serene  confi- 
dence in  its  fragmentary  but  everywhere  penetrating 
interest  which  seems  to  pervade  the  most  fractured 
fraction  of  a  Greek  relief  on  the  Athenian  acropolis  ? 
Yes,  there  would  be  the  debris  of  Auguste  Rodin's 
sculpture." 

This  is  largely  true,  though  perhaps  it  is  some- 
what exaggerated,  but  if  the  foregoing  analysis  of 
Rodin's  talent  is  anything  like  the  right  one,  it  will 
be  seen  that  there  is  more  than  one  reason  why  it 


RODIN  141 

is  true.  Rodin's  sculpture  would  better  survive 
mutilation  than  that  of  his  contemporaries,  not  only 
because  of  the  truth  and  beauty  of  the  fragments 
that  would  be  left,  not  only  because  his  sense  of 
structure  makes  other  sculpture,  even  very  good 
sculpture,  look  structureless  and  flabby,  but  because 
his  work  would  suffer  as  little  by  mutilation  as  any 
work  could.  It  is  possible,  even,  that  some  of  it 
would  be  more  effective  for  being  resolved  into  the 
parts  which  have  not  grown  naturally  and  inevitably 
out  of  a  predetermined  design,  but  have  rather  been 
put  together  afterward  into  as  good  an  arrangement 
as  their  author  could  contrive.  We  should  be  able  to 
do  complete  justice  to  the  perfection  of  the  frag- 
ments without  being  worried  by  the  artist's  defective 
sense  of  design.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that  Rodin 
has  always  been  willing  to  exhibit  his  work  in  bits,  to 
carry  out  as  independent  statues  figures  originally 
conceived  as  portions  of  a  larger  design,  to  show 
things  without  heads  or  arms  and  to  act  himself  the 
role  of  Time  or  of  the  barbarian  invader.  The  bits 
are  all  that  really  interest  him,  and  their  more  or  less 
successful  combination  is  a  matter  of  indifference 
when  it  is  not  a  nuisance. 

Perhaps  the  type  of  artist  I  have  been  trying 
to  describe  will  be  brought  into  sharper  relief  and 
made  more  clearly  comprehensible  by  means  of  a 
contrast  with  a  radically  different  type,  and  for  this 
purpose  let  us  take  another  contemporary  sculptor 


RODIN 

of  great  eminence — another  Augustus,  too,  by  a 
singular  coincidence — our  own  Saint-Gaudens.  Here 
is  a  man  as  fundamentally  the  designer  as  the  other 
is  the  modeller.  From  the  start  one  feels  that  the 
design  is  his  affair,  the  pattern  of  the  whole,  its  deco- 
rative effect  and  play  of  line,  its  beauty  of  masses 
and  spaces,  its  fitness  for  its  place  and  its  surround- 
ings, its  composition,  in  a  word.  He  begins  as  a 
cameo  cutter  and  works  on  gems  whose  perfection 
of  composition  is  their  almost  sole  claim  to  considera- 
tion; he  produces  a  multiplicity  of  small  reliefs, 
dainty,  exquisite,  infallibly  charming  in  their  ar- 
rangement— things  which  are  so  dependent  on  their 
design  for  their  very  existence  that  they  seem 
scarcely  modelled  at  all — things  which  it  is  inconceiv- 
able that  one  should  separate  into  their  parts,  because 
the  parts  would  have  no  independent  meaning.  He 
does  angels,  caryatids,  in  which  the  realisation  of 
parts  is  rigidly  subordinated  to  decorative  effect  and 
beauty  of  ensemble,  and  his  first  independent  statue, 
the  "  Farragut,"  is  a  masterpiece  of  restrained  and 
elegant,  yet  original  and  forceful  design — a  design, 
too,  that  includes  the  base  and  the  bench  below,  and 
of  which  the  figures  in  bas-relief  are  almost  as  im- 
portant a  part  as  the  statue  itself. 

He  is  known  for  the  immense  amount  of  time  he 
takes  over  his  work  and  the  number  of  changes  he 
makes — some  of  his  creations  have  been  as  long  in 
attaining  completion  as  the  "  Burghers  of  Calais," 


RODIN  143 

if  not  as  long  as  the  "  Gates  of  Hell " — but  his 
hesitations  have  arisen  from  a  different  cause.  The 
infinite  fastidiousness  of  a  master  designer,  con- 
stantly reworking  and  readjusting  his  design  that 
every  part  of  it  shall  be  perfect  and  that  no  fold 
of  drapery  or  spray  of  leafage  shall  be  out  of  its 
proper  place,  never  satisfied  that  his  composition  is 
beyond  improvement  while  an  experiment  remains 
to  be  tried,  sometimes  abandoning  his  first  design 
for  another  that  he  believes  to  be  better,  but  gen- 
erally coming  back  to  his  original  conception,  rein- 
forced, broadened,  certified  by  manifold  trials  and 
variations — this  is  what  costs  him  years  of  labour. 
When  his  work  is  done,  you  feel  that  it  is  inevi- 
tably thus  and  not  otherwise;  that  each  small  frag- 
ment of  it  is  necessary  to  the  effect  of  the  whole 
and  has  no  existence  apart  from  the  whole;  and 
the  thought  of  the  barbarian's  hammer  makes  you 
shudder. 

Gradually,  by  years  of  work  and  experience  he 
grows  stronger  and  stronger  in  the  more  purely 
sculptural  qualities,  in  grasp  of  form  and  structure, 
in  mastery  of  modelling ;  but  even  in  such  superb  and 
balanced  works  as  the  "  Shaw  Memorial "  or  the 
"  Sherman  "  statue,  it  is  the  design  that  counts  first 
and  last,  and  dominates  the  special  interest  of  the 
details — a  design  free,  expressive,  complicated,  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  "  elementary  symmetry  of 
the  Medicean  tombs,"  but  nevertheless  a  design  as 


RODIN 

imperiously  conceived,  as  relentless  in  its  dominance 
of  the  contributory  parts,  as  intolerant  of  independ- 
ent perfections.  They  are  antipodal  types  of  artist, 
these  two  Augusti,  the  natural  designer  who  becomes 
a  modeller  through  continued  effort,  and  the  great 
modeller  who  achieves,  sometimes,  an  approach  to 
satisfactory  design.  Which  we  shall  admire  or  enjoy 
the  more  is  a  matter,  largely,  of  our  own  relative 
susceptibility  to  the  various  elements  of  art.  We 
may  be  thankful  that  two  such  men  have  existed  in 
our  epoch  and  that  we  have  work  so  diversely  accom- 
plished to  enjoy. 

So  far  we  have  been  dealing  with  what  may  prop- 
erly be  called  the  earlier  work  of  Rodin,  though  the 
study  of  it  has  taken  us  well  past  his  fiftieth  year. 
This  need  not  surprise  us,  when  we  realise  that  he 
was  nearing  forty  when  he  became  a  recognised, 
exhibiting  artist,  so  that  all  this  work  is  that  of  little 
more  than  the  first  decade  and  a  half  of  his  inde- 
pendent career.  In  the  development  of  his  later  style 
there  is  much  that  is  more  difficult  to  understand  and 
to  explain  to  oneself  or  to  others,  and  here  M.  Mau- 
clair's  volume,  in  spite  of  a  puzzling  style  which  may 
be  partly  or  altogether  the  fault  of  the  translator, 
becomes  a  real  help.  Through  his  explanations,  diffi- 
cult as  they  are  to  follow — above  all,  through  his 
quotations  from  Rodin's  own  somewhat  rambling 
talk  or  occasional  writings — one  gradually  attains 
to  some  dim  notion  of  the  meaning  and  purpose  of 


RODIN  145 

the  sculptor's  later  experiments.  To  put  it,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  into  a  word,  from  a  realistic  sculptor, 
Rodin  has  gradually  become  an  impressionistic  sculp- 
tor. The  evolution  which,  in  the  art  of  painting, 
began  with  Courbet  and  ended  with  Monet — two  men 
of  considerable  physical  as  well  as  moral  resemblance 
to  Rodin — has,  in  the  art  of  sculpture,  taken  place 
in  the  work  of  one  man. 

The  essence  of  this  evolution  is  the  transference  of 
interest  from  objects  to  the  light  that  falls  upon 
them,  and  Rodin  has,  apparently,  attempted  some- 
thing altogether  new  in  sculpture,  the  carving  in 
marble  of  an  atmosphere,  and  the  rendering  not  so 
much  of  the  actual  forms  of  the  human  body  as  of 
its  luminosity.  Of  course  nothing  is  so  new  as  it 
seems,  and  the  methods  which  Rodin  has  adopted 
have  been  used  before  and  to  some  extent  for  the 
same  purpose.  He  has  only  pushed  them  farther 
than  any  one  else,  has  bent  his  mind  more  exclusively 
to  the  attainment  of  certain  effects,  and  has  more 
ruthlessly  sacrificed  everything  else  in  the  process. 
Indeed  he  himself  maintains  that  so  far  from  being 
new,  the  methods  of  his  later  work  are  based  on  the 
only  right  comprehension  of  the  art  of  the  Greeks, 
which  has  been  misunderstood  by  everybody  else, 
and  that  he  is  proceeding  as  they  did,  while  others 
have  only  unintelligently  imitated  their  works. 
Whether  the  use  of  large  masses  and  united  surfaces 
by  the  antique  sculptors  was  really  intended  to  pro- 


146  RODIN 

duce  an  equivalent  effect  to  the  luminosity  of  flesh, 
or  whether  it  was  simply  a  part  of  the  Greek  concep- 
tion of  form — an  elimination  of  the  non-essential  and 
a  delight  in  largeness  for  its  own  sake — its  results 
have  a  certain  similarity  to  those  attained  by  the 
Venetian  painters  in  their  effort  to  attain  light  and 
atmosphere.  When  one  passes  from  Florentine  to 
Venetian  painting,  the  treatment  of  form  is  perceived 
to  be  almost  more  radically  changed  than  the  treat- 
ment of  colour.  It  is  not  only  that  the  line  is  dis- 
guised and  the  edges  melted  away,  but  all  the  forms 
become  larger,  rounder,  smoother,  less  accented. 
The  Florentine  interest  in  bone  and  sinew  and  muscle, 
in  joints  and  attachments,  stresses  and  pressures, 
disappears,  and  we  have,  instead,  broad,  glowing 
masses  that  seem  almost  unorganised,  so  faint  are 
their  interior  markings.  All  this  was  not  merely  be- 
cause the  Venetians  liked  fat  women,  nor  was  it, 
as  the  Florentines  thought,  because  the  Venetians 
couldn't  draw.  In  the  same  way  some  critics  of 
Rodin's  later  work  have  so  far  forgotten  the  "  Age 
of  Bronze  "  as  to  reproach  him  with  not  knowing  the 
figure.  It  was  an  amplification  of  modelling  for  the 
sake  of  obtaining  light,  and  this  "  amplification  of 
modelling "  is  what  Rodin  has  introduced  into  his 
later  sculpture.  To  get  rid  of  the  harshness  and 
wiriness  of  edges,  to  spread  the  lights  into  their 
surroundings  as  lights  do  spread  in  nature,  he  has 
actually  thickened  his  forms  to  correspond  with  the 


RODIN:     VICTOR  HUGO 


RODIN  147 

apparent  thickening  of  natural  forms  under  illu- 
mination, introducing  a  kind  of  halation  into  the  art 
of  sculpture ;  he  has  gained  breadth  of  effect  by  filling 
up  hollows,  and  atmosphere  by  diminishing  shadows, 
and  has  enveloped  his  figures  in  a  mystery  like  that 
from  which  emerge  the  ghostly  presences  of  modern 
men  and  women  in  the  portraits  of  Eugene  Carriere. 
The  figures  of  the  Nereids  from  the  Hugo  monument, 
and  the  figure  of  the  poet  himself,  are  capital  exam- 
ples of  the  method.  The  forms  are  enlarged  and 
nowhere  sharply  made  out,  enveloped  in  a  veil  of 
unremoved  marble  as  in  the  unfinished  works  of 
Michelangelo,  and  the  effect  is  a  curious  blurring 
such  as  modern  photographers  seek  by  throwing 
their  pictures  slightly  out  of  focus. 

It  was  a  desire  for  escape,  by  mystery,  from  the 
harshness  of  the  matter  of  fact  that  led  the  Floren- 
tine sculptors  to  the  invention  of  a  substitute  for 
colour  in  their  much  more  delicate  system  of  reticent 
half-modelling.  It  must  have  been  as  much  the 
relief  he  found  in  mystery  as  his  own  impatience  or 
the  impatience  of  his  patrons  which  led  Michelangelo 
to  leave  so  many  of  his  works  unfinished.  In  his 
deliberate  search  for  means  of  expressing  mystery 
and  light  Rodin  has  seized  upon  the  abstraction  of 
the  Greeks,  the  low  relief  of  the  Florentines,  the 
unfinish  of  Michelangelo,  and  haa  carried  each  to 
extremes  never  before  contemplated.  Our  opinion 
of  the  result  must  depend  on  whether  we  feel  it  to 


148  RODIN 

be  worth  while — whether  we  think  the  novel  achieve- 
ment altogether  compensates  for  the  sacrifices  made 
in  its  behalf.  As  Monet  has  unquestionably  painted 
light  as  it  was  never  painted  before,  so  has  Rodin 
modelled  light  as  no  one  ever  thought  of  modelling 
it.  In  both  cases  the  question,  to  which  every  one 
will  have  his  own  answer,  is,  how  far  the  end  justifies 
the  means.  In  any  case  it  is  surely  a  gain  to  have  a 
new  kind  of  achievement,  however  strongly  one  may 
believe  that  the  old  kind  was,  on  the  whole,  more 
important. 

As  long  ago  as  when  he  made  the  bust  of  Mme.  V., 
now  in  the  Luxembourg  Gallery,  Rodin  showed  the 
fascination  that  masses  of  unsmoothed  stone  had  for 
him,  using  them  here  for  the  sake  of  contrast  with 
the  exquisitely  modelled  and  finished  head — one  of 
the  most  delightful  and  subtle  pieces  of  work  pro- 
duced in  modern  times.  In  this  case  he  carved  a  part 
of  the  amorphous  mass  into  a  spray  of  flowers — pre- 
sumably suggested  by  the  accidental  shape  of  the 
unremoved  marble — which  I  have  always  wished 
somebody  would  take  away;  the  rest  of  it  has  an 
undoubted  value,  suggesting  a  fur  pelisse,  treated 
sketchily  as  a  painter  might  indicate  it,  out  of  which 
the  smooth  white  shoulders  emerge  into  palpitating 
beauty.  Since  then  his  use  of  such  rough  masses 
has  constantly  increased  until,  in  some  of  his  later 
works,  there  seems  to  be  more  of  them  than  of  the 
figures  which  grow  out  of  them,  and  one  has  seen,  in 


RODIN :         BUST   OF    M  \U : .    V 


RODIN  149 

his  work  and  in  that  of  some  of  his  imitators,  such 
unfinish  deliberately  prepared  for  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  shapeless  masses  of  clay  added  to  the  model 
to  show  where  the  marble  will  be  left  uncut  away  in 
the  definitive  production.  Finally  he  has  allegorised 
this  method  and  produced  in  "  Thought,"  a  female 
head,  visible  only  from  the  chin  upward,  emerging 
from  a  rudely  squared  block,  what  M.  Mauclair  calls 
"  the  very  symbol  of  his  art."  Such  works  are,  by 
their  very  incompletion,  stimulating  to  the  imagina- 
tion, but  one  wonders  if  there  is  not,  occasionally,  a 
hint  of  affectation  in  all  this,  of  strangeness  for 
strangeness'  sake,  of  a  desire  to  shock  into  attention 
the  inattentive  or  the  blase.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  there  is  not,  at  times,  an  element  of  challenge  in 
his  ostentatious  disregard  of  the  common  prejudice 
in  favour  of  the  completed  and  the  intelligible,  as  if 
he  felt  obliged  to  exaggerate  his  own  methods  in 
order  to  keep  up  an  excitement  about  his  name ;  and 
one  feels  this  especially  when  one  finds  him  transfer- 
ring this  use  of  intentional  roughness  from  marble 
to  bronze,  as  in  the  unexplained  excrescence  upon  the 
nose  of  the  bronze  study  for  the  head  of  "  Balzac," 
the  curious  little  dabs  upon  the  left  breast  of  the 
magnificent  bust  of  Jean-Paul  Laurens,  or  the 
strange  medley  of  bands  and  straps  of  clay,  repro- 
duced in  enduring  metal,  which  stand  for  the  coat 
in  the  equally  fine  bust  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes.  The 
suspicion  may  be  entirely  unjust.  Certainly  such 


150  RODIN 

manoeuvres  are  unworthy  of  so  eminent  a  talent,  and 
certainly  such  works  as  the  tw.o  last  mentioned  stand 
in  no  need  of  any  such  adventitious  appeal  to  our 
interest.  But  it  would  not  be  altogether  strange  if 
an  artist,  fundamentally  of  a  simple  and  instinctive 
nature,  acclaimed  as  a  poet  and  a  mighty  thinker  as 
well  as  a  master  of  masters,  should  become  somewhat 
dazzled,  lose,  a  little,  his  sense  of  proportion,  and 
end  by  making  a  fetich  of  himself,  his  ideas,  even 
his  mannerisms. 

Is  the  much  discussed  "  Balzac  "  statue  a  master- 
piece, an  error,  or  a  bad  joke?  It  has  been  called  all 
of  these  things.  M.  Mauclair,  speaking,  apparently, 
for  the  artist  himself,  gives  us  an  account  of  the 
reasons  why  it  is  what  it  is.  The  main  point  of  the 
explanation  is  that  Rodin  wanted  to  avoid  the  frock- 
coat  style  of  statuary.  A  statue  was  a  proper  form 
of  homage  to  an  athlete  or  a  warrior,  whose  physical 
perfection  was  a  great  part  of  his  effectiveness,  but 
it  is  absurd  to  make  full-length  statues  of  men  whose 
bodies  count  for  nothing  in  their  fame  and  whose 
costumes  are  ugly  and  unsculpturesque.  Victor 
Hugo  had  been  transformed  by  the  artist  into  a  kind 
of  nude  sea-god,  but  Balzac's  well-known  physical 
peculiarities  precluded  such  treatment,  and  his  frog- 
like  body  would  have  been  immitigably  grotesque  if 
exposed  to  view.  The  logical  monument  to  such  a 
man  would  have  been  a  bust  with  an  inscription,  and, 
perhaps,  with  allegorical  figures;  but  since  a  statue 


RODIN:      THOUGHT 


RODIN  151 

it  was  to  be,  the  problem  was  to  find  some  method 
of  concentrating  the  attention  upon  the  head.  Rodin 
had  made  a  vigorous  bronze  study  for  this  head, 
already  mentioned,  but  in  the  statue  he  seems  to  have 
reworked  it,  exaggerating  his  exaggerations  in  the 
rage  for  expression,  until  it  looks  more  like  the  head 
of  a  Minotaur  than  of  a  human  being.  Then  he 
clothed  the  figure  in  the  historic  bath-gown,  and,  on 
his  principle  of  amplifying  the  modelling,  "  pro- 
ceeded to  simplify  the  folds  until  he  had  left  only  the 
two  or  three  essential  ones.  The  result  thus  obtained, 
with  the  disproportion  of  body  and  legs,  led  Rodin 
to  hide  the  short,  ugly,  useless  arms  under  the 
drapery,  and  the  figure  thus  assumed,"  in  M.  Mau- 
clair's  own  words,  "  pretty  much  the  appearance  of 
a  mummy,  of  a  sort  of  monolith  .  .  .  the  whole 
work  gives  the  impression  of  a  menhir,  a  pagan  dedi- 
catory stone." 

The  description  could  not  be  more  exact,  but  was 
it  not  permissible  for  the  Societe  des  Gens  de  Lettres 
to  decide  that  a  menhir  was  not  precisely  what  they 
had  ordered? 

Mr.  Brownell  has  said  of  this  statue  that  "  what- 
ever its  success  or  its  failure,  it  emphasises  the  tem- 
peramental side  of  Rodin's  genius,  which  is  here 
unbalanced  by  the  determination  and  concreteness 
usually  so  marked  in  his  work."  Perhaps  it  is  only 
another  way  of  saying  the  same  thing  to  call  it  the 
aberration  of  an  eminently  concrete  genius  struggling; 


152  RODIN 

with  the  abstract,  of  a  naturalist  and  a  craftsman  at- 
tempting pure  poetic  expression. 

If,  in  the  discussion  of  these  works,  I  have  spoken 
much  more  of  methods  than  of  imagination,  it  is 
because  everybody  speaks  of  imagination  and  hardly 
any  one  of  technique,  and  because  the  plastic  imagina- 
tion— the  imagination  of  the  artist — speaks  through 
forms,  and  the  best  way  to  realise  the  nature  of  an 
artist's  imagination  is  to  try  to  understand  the  forms 
he  has  created.  But  if  I  have  given  the  impression 
that  Rodin  is  not  an  imaginative  artist — that  his 
realism  is  of  the  commonplace,  terre  a  terre  kind 
which  copies  rather  than  creates — I  have  not  given 
the  impression  I  have  intended.  I  have  already  said 
that  an  artist  of  the  type  I  am  trying  to  describe 
is  a  craftsman,  a  realist,  and  a  romanticist,  and  in 
Rodin  the  romanticist  is  nearly  as  strong  as  the  real- 
ist or  the  technician.  It  takes  imagination  of  a  high 
order  to  conceive  a  figure  as  thoroughly  as  the 
"  Danaid  "  is  conceived ;  it  takes  invention  of  a  still 
higher  kind  to  produce  such  a  wonderful  and  passion- 
ate group  as  the  "  Eternal  Spring  " ;  and  many  of 
these  smaller  groups  and  figures  are  wonderfully 
composed  also,  if  one  considers  them  separately.  It 
is  only  in  his  larger  compositions,  in  work  that  should 
have  a  decorative  purpose  and  a  formal  relation  to 
its  surroundings,  and  in  occasional  eccentricities  and 
angularities,  that  one  feels  seriously  the  lack  of 
designing  power.  The  lack  of  imagination,  after  his 


RODIN:   STATUE  OF  BALZAC 


RODIN  153 

first  two  or  three  figures,  one  never  feels,  and  however 
unideal  his  work  may  be  thought  to  be,  it  cannot  be 
called  unimaginative ;  however  scientific,  it  is  never 
cold-blooded.  Indeed  his  imagination  is  overheated, 
savagely  voluptuous,  not  without  a  tinge  of  perver- 
sity— delighting,  at  its  highest,  in  sensuous  beauty 
and  intensity  of  physical  emotion,  at  its  ordinary 
level  in  sheer  animal  force  and  the  splendour  of  vital- 
ity, at  its  lowest  in  pain  and  horror  and  vice.  M. 
Mauclair  devotes  some  space  to  certain  drawings 
of  Rodin's  which  must,  from  his  description,  be  ex- 
traordinary enough  both  in  method  and  subject,  and 
defends  them  from  the  charge  of  licentiousness  on 
the  ground  that  the  artist's  interest  in  them  is  patho- 
logical and  quasi-scientific,  and  that  they  are  no 
more  questionable  than  anatomical  plates.  Moreover 
they  are  done  for  himself  alone,  as  a  part  of  his 
study,  and  are  shown  only  to  those  who  can  under- 
stand them,  while  he  has  never  "  yielded  to  the  fancy 
of  modelling  one  of  these  subjects."  Certainly  his 
major  works,  full  of  passion  as  some  of  them  are, 
are  kept  well  within  the  limits  imposed  by  decency 
in  both  subject  and  treatment,  though  he  has  done 
certain  "  sphynxes  "  and  "  nymphs  "  whose  expres- 
sion and  type  of  feature  are  bestial  and  revolting, 
and  one  has  seen  other  things  which  one  does  not 
need  to  be  a  rigid  puritan  to  regret.  Fortunately, 
they  do  not  form  a  very  important  part  of  his  pro- 
duction, and  the  same  heat  of  imagination  which 


154.  RODIN 

has  produced  them  has  endowed  his  finer  works  with 
an  intensity  of  life  that  is  as  rare  as  the  magnificent 
craftsmanship  which  has  interpreted  it  to  us. 

The  function  of  the  critic  is  not  to  praise  or 
blame,  not  even  to  weigh  or  measure  or  value,  but 
to  distinguish,  to  discriminate,  to  explain.  His  work 
is  to  show  what  a  thing  is,  and  how  and  why  it  is  so, 
to  analyse  and  classify,  to  determine  its  genus  and 
species  and  variety.  As  he  is  human,  however,  his 
own  predilections,  his  likes  and  dislikes,  will  creep 
in  to  colour  his  product,  and  if  he  is  only  honest 
there  will  be  at  least  this  advantage,  that  a  real 
enthusiasm  will  give  vivacity  to  his  description  of 
the  qualities  he  most  admires  and  a  greater  clearness 
to  his  perception  of  their  absence.  At  any  rate,  the 
personal  equation  must  be  taken  into  account,  and 
no  one  critic,  however  good  his  intention,  can  tell  all 
the  truth  about  any  artist.  This,  then,  is  a  sincere 
attempt  to  describe  how  Rodin  and  his  art  strike 
one  person.  Many  other  such  attempts  have  been 
made  and  many  more  will  be,  and  I  have  no  illusions 
as  to  the  definitiveness  of  this  one.  Let  the  reader 
take  it  for  what  it  is  worth. 


RODIN:      THE  KISS 


VII 
LORD    LEIGHTON 


LORD    LEIGHTON 

PROBABLY  no  other  painter,  since  the  art 
of  painting  was  invented,  ever  received  such 
splendid  material  rewards  for  the  exercise 
of  his  talents  as  did  Frederic  Leighton,  Baron  Leigh- 
ton  of  Stretton,  president  of  the  Royal  Academy, 
commander  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  associate  of 
the  Institute  of  France,  member  of  most  of  the  acad- 
emies of  Europe,  doctor  of  this  or  that  in  half-a- 
dozen  universities,  knight  of  many  orders,  man  of 
wealth,  friend  of  princes — a  person  of  distinction  and 
the  highest  social  standing  wherever  he  might  find 
himself.  Perhaps  it  is  partly  for  this  very  reason 
that  many  critics  and  painters  are  inclined  to  deny 
him  those  less  material  rewards  of  permanent  fame 
and  abiding  influence  which  they  would  bestow  on 
some  less  successful  men.  The  very  qualities  which 
so  greatly  aided  his  career — his  good  looks,  his  ac- 
complishments, his  personal  charm — have  tended  to 
obscure  his  real  artistic  talent.  He  did  so  many 
things  so  well  that  people  might  be  excused  for  for- 
getting that  he  "  painted  too,"  as  Whistler  phrased 
it — whether  as  a  sneer  at  the  artist  or  as  a  rebuke  of 
his  superficial  admirers,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  He 
was  so  eminently  and  obviously  the  proper  person 

157 


158  LORD    LEIGHTON 

for  the  head  of  an  academy  that  his  art  is  dubbed 
"  merely  academic  "  and  safely  disposed  of. 

How  early  he  was  marked  out  for  his  great  office 
is  surprising.  As  a  youngster  at  Rome,  before  his 
first  picture  had  been  exhibited,  Thackeray  met  him, 
and  at  once  set  him  down  as  Millais's  only  serious 
rival.  Later,  in  London,  before  and  at  the  time  of 
his  election  as  associate,  his  future  destiny  seems  to 
have  been  a  matter  of  common  talk.  It  was  impos- 
sible not  to  recognise  the  fitness  of  the  only  English- 
man who  ever  really  knew  how  to  draw  the  human 
figure,  when  that  Englishman  was  also  a  cultivated 
gentleman,  a  linguist,  a  musician,  an  effective  writer 
and  speaker,  an  extremely  handsome  man,  and  a 
person  of  winning  manners.  Better  than  all  these 
things,  he  was  a  man  of  pure  and  lofty  character, 
not  only  honourable  and  conscientious,  but  broad- 
minded  and  tender-hearted,  full  of  charity  and  the 
milk  of  human  kindness,  an  ornament  to  any  profes- 
sion and  to  any  walk  in  life. 

Born  at  Scarborough  in  1830,  of  a  good  family, 
the  son  of  a  physician  who  had  given  up  practice 
and  lived  the  life  of  a  scholar,  Leighton  was  educated 
abroad,  being  little  in  England  from  the  time  he  was 
ten  years  old  until  he  settled  in  London  in  1859. 
All  his  life  he  remained  a  traveller,  and  was  almost 
as  often  in  Italy  as  at  home.  His  father  wisely 
insisted  on  his  attaining  a  good  classical  and  general 
education  before  devoting  himself  to  art,  and  though 


LEIGHTON :    ' '  CLYTEMNESTRA 


LORD    LEIGHTON  159 

he  seems  to  have  begun  his  serious  artistic  training 
in  Florence  in  1842  and  to  have  become  the  pupil 
of  Steinle  of  Frankfort  in  1843,  it  was  not  until  he 
was  seventeen  that  he  was  allowed  to  give  his  whole 
time  to  his  future  profession.  He  remained  with 
Steinle,  or  under  his  direct  influence,  until  1852,  and 
he  always  referred  to  that  influence  as  having  set 
upon  his  own  art  "  the  ineffaceable  seal."  Steinle  was 
an  offshoot  of  the  German  Nazarenes,  an  admirer 
and,  in  some  sense,  a  follower  of  Cornelius  and  Over- 
beck;  but  his  own  idealism  seems  to  have  been 
of  a  much  less  pompous  and  artificial  sort  than  theirs. 
His  was  a  pure  and  gentle  spirit,  and  he  filled  his 
pupil  with  lofty  ideals  of  devotion  to  the  highest  in 
art.  Technically,  his  chief  insistence  must  have  been 
upon  absolute  perfection  of  drawing.  Any  specifi- 
cally German  accent  that  Leighton  may  have  acquired 
from  him  rapidly  disappeared  when  his  immediate 
influence  was  removed ;  but  to  him  the  young  man 
undoubtedly  owed  that  thoroughness  of  education 
in  form  which  made  him  a  unique  figure  in  England 
and  the  equal  of  the  best-trained  artists  anywhere. 
In  1852  he  went  to  Rome,  and  the  next  year  or 
two  he  devoted  to  the  painting  of  his  first  important 
picture,  "  Cimabue's  Madonna  Carried  in  Procession 
through  the  Streets  of  Florence,"  which  was  exhib- 
ited in  the  Royal  Academy  in  1855,  a  more  ambitious 
work  in  size  and  in  the  number  of  figures  it  con- 
tained than  any  other  work  of  his  except  "  The 


160  LORD    LEIGHTON 

Daphnephoria,"  of  1876,  and  his  two  or  three  mural 
decorations.  It  met  with  instantaneous  success, 
was  praised  by  artists  and  critics,  and  bought 
by  the  Queen.  The  opponents  of  Preraphaelitism 
were  delighted  to  find  a  young  man  not  of  the 
Brotherhood  who  was  the  equal  of  Hunt  and  Millais 
in  ability,  while  the  mediaevalism  of  subject  and  care- 
fulness of  detail  evinced  in  the  picture  pleased  the 
Preraphaelites  and  their  great  advocate,  Ruskin. 
The  success  was  too  great  to  be  at  once  repeated, 
and  for  some  years  we  hear  of  pictures  rejected  or 
badly  hung,  and  of  adverse  comments  in  the  press. 
Probably  the  pictures  were  not  so  good  as  the  "  Cim- 
abue  " — some  of  them  have  never  reappeared — they 
were  transitional  works  in  which  the  real  Frederic 
Leighton  was  disengaging  himself  from  the  pupil  of 
Steinle.  The  mediaevalism  went  first — the  very  year 
after  "  Cimabue  "  he  painted  a  "  Pan,"  a  "  Venus," 
and  an  "  Orpheus  " ;  though  in  a  freakish  spirit,  in- 
conceivable a  little  later,  he  gives  his  Orpheus  a 
violin  instead  of  a  lyre.  The  whole  transition  can 
have  taken  but  a  short  time,  and  from  the  early 
sixties  to  his  death  he  is  always  essentially  the  same. 
He  was  elected  an  associate  in  1864  and  an  Aca- 
demician in  1869,  made  president  of  the  Academy 
and  knighted  in  1878,  promoted  to  a  baronetcy  in 
1886,  and  to  the  peerage  on  January  1,  1896,  less 
than  a  month  before  his  death. 

Whether  the  art  of  Leighton  is   rightly   to  be 


LEIGHTON:     ANTIQUE  JUGGLING  GIRL 


LORD    LEIGHTON  161 

called  academic  depends,  of  course,  on  the  meaning 
one  attaches  to  that  term.  Nowadays  it  has  become 
a  handy  missile  for  the  half-educated,  the  raw  emo- 
tionalist, or  the  delighter  in  paint  for  paint's  sake, 
to  fling  at  all  balanced,  restrained,  or  accomplished 
art,  from  Raphael  to  Vermeer  of  Delft.  Because 
certain  things  must  be  learned,  it  is  assumed  that 
anybody  may  learn  them;  because  a  work  of  art 
shows  training,  it  is  assumed  that  there  was  nothing 
there  to  train ;  the  possession  of  taste  is  treated  as 
proof  of  the  absence  of  talent.  We  shall  yet  hear 
Whistler  called  academic  by  the  more  extravagant 
of  the  modern  advocates  of  slap-dash.  In  the  sense 
that  his  art  was  studied,  polished,  restrained,  always 
governed  by  taste  and  always  avoiding  excesses ;  in 
the  sense  that  it  showed  the  good  breeding  of  a 
gentleman  and  the  learning  of  a  scholar,  not  to  be 
acquired  in  a  week  or  two,  Leighton  was  certainly 
academic.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  if  any  of  his 
contemporaries  but  Paul  Baudry  was  his  equal  in 
academic  accomplishment.  But  it  does  not  follow; 
that  he  was  nothing  else,  and  that  there  was  no  real 
emotion  behind  his  measured  utterance. 

Even  of  such  truly  academic  painters  as  Cabanel 
or  Bouguereau  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  their 
work  is  the  result  of  mere  training.  Hundreds  of 
men  had  the  same  training  without  the  intelligence 
and  the  gifts  of  eye  and  hand  which  enabled  them  to 
profit  by  it.  Drawing  is  no  more  to  be  learned  with- 


162  LORD   LEIGHTON 

out  an  eye  for  form  than  is  music  without  an  ear  for 
tone,  and  great  natural  gifts  are  as  necessary  as  in- 
dustry to  the  attainment  of  even  respectable  mastery 
in  it.  But  Leighton's  drawing,  at  its  best,  has  a 
quality  entirely  distinct  from  the  cold  perfection 
of  Bouguereau's  or  the  photographic  accuracy  of 
Gerome's.  There  are  many  evidences  in  the  English 
painter's  letters  that  he  was  keenly  sensitive  to 
beauty  and  was  greatly  moved  by  it,  but  such  evi- 
dences are  not  to  be  found  in  the  letters  alone — his 
paintings  and  drawings  are  full  of  them.  His  early 
drawings  of  foliage  and  flowers  are  delightful,  and 
in  his  later  work  he  attained  to  an  ideal  beauty  in 
the  representation  of  the  human  figure  which  is  more 
nearly  Greek  than  anything  else  in  later  nineteenth 
century  art.  His  few  works  in  sculpture  have  been- 
rated  very  high  by  professional  sculptors,  but  let  us 
rather  consider  a  few  of  the  figures  he  painted.  Look 
at  the  massive,  the  truly  monumental,  dignity  of  his 
"  Clytemnestra,"  as  she  watches  from  the  battlements 
of  Argos  for  the  beacon  fires  which  shall  announce 
the  return  of  her  husband ;  a  grand  figure,  titanic  in 
bulk  but  nobly  severe  in  line,  a  very  embodiment  of 
the  spirit  of  antique  tragedy.  Look  at  the  full- 
blown, gracious  ripeness,  languorous  and  heavy,  of 
those  two  lovely  sleepers  in  "  The  Summer  Moon." 
Look  at  the  youthful  suppleness  of  the  "  Antique 
Juggling  Girl,"  her  clean,  round  limbs  as  smoothly 
modelled  as  a  Pompeian  bronze;  or  at  the  exquisite, 


LEIGHTON:      THE  BATH  OF  PSYCHE 


LORD   LEIGHTON  163 

delicate  slenderness  of  the  "  Psyche,"  her  flower-like 
body  gleaming  between  the  marble  columns  and 
reflected  in  the  limpid  element  below.  The  creator  of 
such  figures  as  these,  and  of  many  others  only  less 
beautiful,  is  a  great  artist — an  artist  of  power,  of 
sensitiveness,  and  of  style. 

And  note  that  it  makes  very  little  difference  what 
these  figures  are  called.  Leighton  has  been  accused, 
among  other  things,  of  being  a  "  literary  painter," 
and  of  serving  up  to  the  British  public  its  beloved 
anecdote  slightly  disguised  with  a  Greek  sauce.  The 
accusation  might  not  seem  very  terrible  even  if  it 
were  true — since  Michelangelo  and  Rembrandt  might 
tell  stories  without  derogation,  why  not  a  lesser  man? 
The  question,  after  all,  is  not  whether  one  tells 
stories,  but  how  one  tells  them.  But,  at  least  in  the 
pictures  just  mentioned,  the  accusation  is  not  true. 
Only  one  of  these  figures,  the  "  Clytemnestra,"  has 
any  definite  story  connected  with  it,  and  one  imagines 
that  even  there  the  figure  may  easily  have  been  in- 
vented first  and  the  story  fitted  to  it  afterward.  The 
stately  amplitude  of  the  erect  form,  the  tenseness 
of  the  rigid  arms  and  clutched  hands,  the  columnar 
effect  of  the  whole,  accented  by  and  contrasted  with 
the  ripple  and  flow  of  the  finely  divided  draperies — 
these  are  the  things  that  count.  Call  her  after  any 
other  tragic  heroine  and  the  result  would  be  the  same. 
The  others  are  even  more  frankly  renderings  of  a 
type  and  an  attitude  of  the  human  figure,  two  women 


16*  LORD   LEIGHTON 

sleeping,  a  girl  juggling  with  balls,  a  young  woman 
disrobing  for  the  bath.  Of  this  sort  are  "  Summer 
Slumber,"  "  Flaming  June,"  "  Clytie,"  and  most 
emphatically  of  this  sort  are  his  essays  in  sculpture, 
the  "  Athlete  Struggling  with  a  Python,"  the  "  Slug- 
gard," and  the  "  Needless  Alarms."  All  these  are 
as  purely  artistic  in  inspiration,  as  little  dependent 
on  anything  external  to  themselves  for  their  effect, 
as  any  "  symphony  "  or  "  arrangement  "  of  Whis- 
tler's. 

It  might  be  more  reasonably  objected  to  these 
works  that  their  inspiration  is  rather  sculptural  than 
pictorial,  but  there  are  still  people  in  the  world  who 
will  not  consent  that  sculpture  shall  have  the  monop- 
oly of  beautiful  form,  or  that  the  art  of  painting 
shall  be  robbed  of  half  her  immemorial  domain,  be- 
cause its  borders  touch  upon  the  confines  of  her 
sister's  estate.  And  if  the  figures  themselves  might 
have  been  executed  in  marble  or  bronze,  losing  little 
thereby,  there  is  in  almost  every  case  an  arrange- 
ment of  background  and  accessory,  a  use  of  land- 
scape, an  addition  of  light  and  shade  and  an 
enhancement  by  colour,  which  are  purely  pictorial. 
No,  the  best  of  Leighton's  works  may  fairly  be  called 
masterpieces  of  the  painter's  art,  and  their  creator 
a  master. 

If  he  is  not  so  successful  in  his  larger  and  more 
ambitious  works  it  is  not  because  they  tell  a  story 
or  depict  an  incident,  but  because  he  was  not  a 


LEIGHTON:  "SKETCH  FOR  ATHLETE  STRUGGLING  WITH 
A  PYTHON" 


LORD   LEIGHTON  165 

master  of  composition,  and  is  seldom  quite  felicitous 
in  his  arrangement  of  more  than  one  or  two  figures. 
Some  of  the  pictures  which  most  clearly  show  his 
besetting  faults  have  no  more  subject  than  the  "  Jug- 
gling Girl  " ;  the  "  Greek  Girls  Picking  up  Shells  by 
the  Seashore,"  for  example.  Here  each  of  the  fig- 
ures is  the  study  of  a  movement,  each  is  beautifully 
and  interestingly  arranged,  but  there  is  no  bond  of 
union  between  them,  no  grouping,  no  large  and  gen- 
eral sweep  of  line  or  apportionment  of  space.  Their 
juxtaposition  is  so  accidental,  and  each  exists  so 
entirely  for  itself  that  one  regrets  that  a  slight  over- 
lapping here  and  there  prevents  the  picture  being 
cut  into  four,  any  one  of  which  would  be  more  effec- 
tive than  the  whole.  One  could  then  enjoy  the  beauty 
of  the  individual  figures  without  being  irritated  by 
their  lack  of  co-ordination.  Not  all  Leighton's  major 
compositions  are  as  ill  put  together  as  this — the 
"  Heracles  Struggling  with  Death  for  the  Body  of 
Alcestis,"  for  instance,  is  even  extremely  well  put 
together — but  they  are  put  together.  The  whole 
scheme  has  not  been  seen,  in  its  entirety,  and  the 
details  developed  from  it — rather  the  separately  seen 
details  have  been  played  about  until  a  not  unpleasing 
arrangement  is  achieved.  The  difference  is  radical. 
One  does  not  expect  the  visionary  lucidity,  the  as- 
tounding clairvoyance,  of  a  Rembrandt — that  is 
something  altogether  exceptional  and  to  be  thankfully 
received  as  such — but  no  man  is  a  composer  who  has 


166  LORD   LEIGHTON 

not  something  of  that  grasp  of  an  ensemble  which 
mark  Raphael  and  Veronese,  which  Baudry  had,  and 
Millet,  and  many  another  and  smaller  man,  and  of 
this  Leighton  had  very  little. 

It  was  perhaps  his  limited  sense  of  composition,  his 
lack  of  feeling  for  large  guiding  lines  and  simple 
masses,  more  than  his  use  of  the  lay-figure  or  his 
elaborate  method  of  work,  based  on  reiterated  pre- 
liminary studies,  which  was  responsible  for  another 
of  his  faults  strongly  exemplified  in  the  "  Girls  Pick- 
ing up  Shells."  In  that  picture,  as  in  the  "  Greek 
Girls  Playing  at  Ball,"  the  draperies  are  supposed 
to  be  violently  agitated  by  the  wind,  but  they  do 
not  really  fly — they  are  meticulously  arranged  in  a 
myriad  little  folds  that  the  wind  would  blow  out  of 
them  in  a  moment,  and  their  unsupported  position 
is  only  to  be  accounted  for  on  the  supposition  that 
they  are  of  some  rigid  material  like  crumpled  tin. 
The  fault  might  be  considered  as  merely  the  result 
of  a  lack  of  feeling  for  motion,  were  it  not  for  two 
considerations:  first,  that  the  illusion  of  motion  in 
art  is  almost  entirely  dependent  on  composition  of 
line;  and  second,  that  Leighton's  love  for  detail 
carries  him  into  the  same  fault  in  the  treatment  of 
drapery  in  repose.  In  the  best  of  his  figures  the 
many  beautiful  details  of  much  divided  drapery  are 
yet  duly  subordinated  to  the  total  effect,  but  in 
other  instances,  as  in  the  "  Fatidica,"  where  the 
immobility  of  extreme  dejection  was  to  be  depicted, 


LORD   LEIGHTON  167 

this  insistence  on  little  things  degenerates  into  an 
irritating  wriggle  of  folds,  which  is  almost  entirely 
destructive  of  the  effect  aimed  at. 

Of  Leighton's  treatment  of  colour  it  is  more  diffi- 
cult to  speak  justly  from  an  inspection  of  reproduc- 
tions and  the  fading  memories  of  originals  seen  long 
ago.  Leighton  himself,  who  was  pretty  well  aware 
of  his  own  strength  and  weakness,  thought  he  had 
achieved  his  position  as  a  draughtsman,  "  in  spite 
of  a  fanatic  preference  for  colour."  Yet  the  impres- 
sion remains  that  he  showed  rather  a  fastidious 
choice  and  arrangement  of  beautiful  colours  than 
a  true  colourist's  power,  that  his  flesh  painting  was 
a  bit  waxy,  and  that  he  was  too  apt  to  harmonise 
his  canvases  by  a  general  reddish  tone,  not  altogether 
pleasant.  Such  as  his  colouring  was,  it  was  a  Dis- 
tinct and  necessary  element  of  his  work,  not  an  after- 
thought, and  he  is  far  from  those  painters  whose 
work  is  better  in  black  and  white  reproduction  than 
in  the  original.  With  Cabanel  or  Lefebvre  the  colour 
is  nugatory;  with  Grerome  it  is  an  offence.  With 
Leighton  it  is  an  essential  part  of  the  conception, 
and,  often,  a  great  addition  to  our  pleasure. 

It  is  given  to  few  artists,  however  sincere,  alto- 
gether to  avoid  the  pot-boiler — the  work  done  from 
routine,  because  work  is  expected  from  one  and  one's 
living  is  to  be  made — work  conscientiously  carried 
out  and  thoroughly  craftsmanlike,  perhaps,  but 
into  which  the  highest  qualities  of  one's  art  hardly 


168  LORD    LEIGHTON 

enter.  It  is  work  of  this  texture  that  most  hurts 
an  artist's  reputation  with  the  succeeding  genera- 
tion, and  such  work  Lord  Leighton,  like  others, 
produced.  There  are  heads  and  figures  of  his  which 
are  excellently  done  in  their  way,  but  cold  and  smooth 
and  characterless — things  in  which,  whether  by  con- 
scious concession  to  the  popular  taste  or  by  a  touch 
of  national  character  in  himself,  his  sense  of  beauty 
degenerates  into  a  display  of  prettiness,  doll-like 
and  insipid.  Is  it  necessary  to  dwell  upon  these? 
In  the  long  run  the  best  work  of  an  artist  gets  itself 
sorted  out,  and  upon  that  his  reputation  finally  rests. 
If  but  a  little  of  it  is  really  excellent,  the  reputation 
is  secure.  To  have  created  half  a  dozen  beautiful 
and  expressive  figures  is  enough  for  any  man,  and 
Leighton  has  given  us  more  than  that  number. 

In  the  ceaseless  flux  of  things,  which  we  somewhat 
presumptuously  call  progress,  one  generation  treads 
on  the  other's  heels;  and  it  is  as  natural  that  the 
young  should  sneer  at  their  out-of-date  elders  as  it 
is  that  these  elders  should  be  somewhat  distrustful  of 
the  young  until  their  ability  is  proved.  The  revolu- 
tionary of  to-day  is  the  obstructive  of  to-morrow, 
and  he  has  scarcely  done  railing  at  his  seniors  before 
he  is  railed  at  in  turn  by  his  juniors.  In  our  day  the 
merry-go-round  is  moving  briskly  and  a  new  "  art 
of  the  future  "  is  born  every  ten  years  or  so.  It  may 
be  that  all  new  things  are  good,  but  do  they  cease 
to  be  good  the  moment  something  newer  is  in  sight? 


LEIGHTON:     FATIDICA 


LORD   LEIGHTON  169 

Does  a  talent  cease  to  exist  the  moment  it  is  recog- 
nised, and  does  the  putting  of  a  letter  or  two  after 
a  name  deprive  the  name  itself  of  all  significance? 
Let  us  by  all  means  praise  him  who  adds  a  field, 
however  small,  to  the  domain  of  art,  but  it  is  as  well 
to  keep  a  grip  on  the  original  acres.  There  are,  and 
will  be,  in  spite  of  fashion,  certain  permanent  ele- 
ments of  art,  certain  enduring  forms  of  beauty,  cer- 
tain perennial  sources  of  pleasure;  and  there  are 
artists  whose  nature  and  whose  duty  it  is  rather  to 
keep  us  in  mind  of  these  than  to  point  out  something 
else  with  much  shouting.  After  all,  are  the  new 
things  always  new  and  the  young  always  infallible? 
David  was  as  much  a  revolutionary  in  his  day  as  the 
romanticists  who  tripped  up  his  heels.  Form  is  out 
of  fashion,  drawing  is  out  of  fashion,  precision 
and  delicacy  of  workmanship  are  out  of  fashion, 
and  Leighton  is  out  of  fashion,  too.  The  lover  of 
beauty  who  has  not  to  paint  pictures  or  write  criti- 
cisms does  not  much  care  and  likes  him  as  well  as 
ever.  As  the  whirligig  goes  round  these  things  will 
come  into  fashion  again,  and  then  the  critics  will 
discover  that  Leighton,  if  not  one  of  the  world's 
greatest  geniuses,  was  yet  a  true,  a  sincere,  an 
accomplished  artist,  and  one  who  created  certain 
forms  of  beauty  and  distinction  worthy  to  endure. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Artists  are  entered  under  the  name  by  which  they  are  most 
commonly  called,  as  Raphael,  Titian,  etc. 

Albizzi       (Giovanna       degli),  Bottega,   a  painter's   shop  in 

36,  37  the  15th  century,  4 

Albizzi    (Giovanni    degli),    36  Botticelli,      his     frescoes     in 

Apprenticeship    of    artists    in  the  Villa  Lemmi,  37 

Middle    Ages    and    Renais-  Bougereau  (G.  A.),  161 


sance,  3,  4 

impossible    to    revive,    9 
should   be    approximated 

10 

Arcetri,   24 
Arno,  the,  21 

Art,    not    to    be    judged    by   Bronze,   sculpture  in,   13 
subject,  33  Brownell,  W.  C.,   127,   128 


truly  academic,  161 
cold  perfection,  162 
idea  of  composition, 

165-166 

"  Breaking    Home    ties,"    121 
British  Museum,   24,   28 


frivolity  of,  in  18th  cen- 
tury, 55 

Low  Countries  compared 
with  France  and  Eng- 
land, 55 

the  only  enduring  ex- 
pression of  the  hu- 
man spirit,  91,  92 

academic  system  of  mod- 
ern teaching,  9,  10 


value    of    his    criticisms, 

128 
considers   a  work  of  art 

as     a     thought     rather 

than    a    thing,    128-129 
criticism   of    Rodin    as   a 

composer,  137 
criticism     of     "  Burghers 

of  Calais,"  139 
on  the  eternal  quality  of 

Rodin's     work     up     to 

1892,   140 
criticism    of    the    Balzac 

statue,   151 


Barye,  teacher  of  Rodin,  131 
Baudry      (Paul),      compared 

with  Leighton,  161 
Berenson,  "  Drawings  of  the   Boucher,  his  criticism  of  Ro- 

Florentine      Masters,"      on       din,  132 

the    Pollaiuoli,    19,    20,    22, 

26,  29 

Berlin,  25,  54,  116  Cabanel    (Alexander),  161 

Bible      times,      Ghirlandaio's  truly    academic,    161 

conception  of,  36 


Boleyn,  Anne,  36 
Bonnat    (Leon),   116 


his   colour  nugatory,   167 


Caricaturists, 
56 


18th     century, 


173 


174  INDEX 

Carrier-Belleuse,           Rodin's  Correggio — Continued. 

work  with,  131  his       chiaroscuro        com- 

Carriere,    (Eugene),    147  pared        with        Rem- 

his  portraits,  147  brandt's,   108 

Canvases,       modern,       ready-  Courbet      (Gustave),     revolts 

made,  6  from       academic       restric- 

Carpaccio        (Vittore),       his  tions,  62 

painting  of  clothes,  41  compared      with      Rodin, 

his  altar  pieces,  41  145 

life  of  St.  Ursula,  41  Critic,  the  function  of,  154 

paints    the     life     around  Crutwell    (Miss    Maud),    her 

him,    41,    42,    53  book     on     the      Pollaiuoli, 

Casting,  15  19,    20,    21,   22,   23,   24,    25, 

Chantilly,  37  27,  28,  29 
Chardin,   records   actual   life, 

56 

Charles    I    of   England,   52  David    (Jacques-Louis),    die- 
Chemistry    of    pigments,    12  tator    of    the    art    of    Eu- 
Classic  art,  35  rope,  58 
"  Classical "  ideal,  the,  34  his    theories    of   painting, 
Clay,  modelling  in,  12,  13  14  58,  59,  60 
College     training     and     the  his      technical     methods, 

modern  artist,  6  59,  60 

Colour,   a   tool,   not   an   end,  compared  with  Ingres,  60 

10  David,  works   of 

Colours,     ready     made     for  The  Oath  of  the  Horatii, 

modern  painter,  6  59 

Composition,  best  learned  in  Leonidas     at    Thermopy- 

the  studio,  15  lae,  59 

Cornelius,   159  The  Coronation  of  Napo- 

Steinle     a     follower     of,  Icon,  59 

159  Portrait  of  Madame  Re- 

Cosimo,  (Pero  di),  37  camier,  59,  60 

Costume,   15,  34  Degas           (Hilaire-Gennain- 

Raphael's     painting     of,  Edgard),    light    and    shade 

40  of,  70 

mediaeval,  47  Donatello,  133 

Italian        and        Spanish  Dou  (Gerard),  as  a  pupil  of 

compared,   48,   49  Rembrandt,  94 

Dutch,  53  Drapery,     modern    ignorance 

painted   by   Vermeer,  54,  of,  7 

55  the   study   of  important, 

neglected    by    18th    cen-  15 

tury  art,  55,  56  the   old    costume   of   the 

Correggio    (Antonio    Allegri,  day,  34 

called),  71  Raphael's,  41 


INDEX  175 

Drawing,  Raphael's,  45  England,  47,  48 

Holbein's,  46  English  portrait  school,   5T 

Watteau's,  57  Eyck   (Jan  Van),  studied  by 

Diirer   (Albrecht),  61  Holbein,  74,  83,  86 
his    relation    to    Holbein 


Fashion>    artists'    interest    in» 

Dutch,    the    first   painters    of  w,          QQ 

Europe,    in    17th    century,  £^38  ^ 

their  realism,  53  Flemish     painters,     first     in 

scholars       and      connois-  ^'^  17«?  C5.nt«r/'  53 

seurs    53  Florence,  21,  24,  36 

honesty  of  their  art,  54,  Florentine  portraits,  37 

56    J                                '  Florentine  sculptors,  147 

substitute  for  colour,  147 

tcole  des  Beaux  Arts,  131  Florentines,  their  dress,  36 

Education  of   an   artist,  dlf-  ™     ^  ?f  f*™*'  37>  f  in 

fers    to-day    from    that    of  Form,  a  tool,  not  an  end,  10 

Middle    Ages    and    Renais-  Fourment   (Helena)    wife  of 

sance,  et  seq.,  3  Rubens,  50    51,  52 

aDorentice  stasre    4  Francesca    (Piero   della),  37 

joTneymanf  5g  '  "French     Art,"      BrowneU's, 

the       modern       training  ,-,        ,    —       ,   .  .           „    . 

more  general,  6  French  Revolution,  effect   of 

a  science  and  not  an  art,  ?he>    «n   the   art   of   Pamt- 

8  mg»  5S 

differing    results    of   two  Fromentin    (Eugene),   81,  98, 

methods,  8 

education    of     gentleman 

and  painter  conflict,  10  Gainsborough           (Thomas), 

methods       in       sculpture  compared  with  the  French 

and       painting       com-  painters  of  the  mode,  58 

pared,  11  Gainsborough,  works  of 

conditions    favour    sculp-  Portrait    of    Mrs.    Beau- 

ture,   11  foy,  58 

education     as     a     crafts-  G6r6me   (Jean  Le"on),  162 

man,  11  his     photographic     accu- 

much    to    be    learned    in  racy,  162 

sculptor's    work    shop,  his  colour,  167 

13  Gersaint,  57 

apprentice     method     su-  Ghiberti,      his      architectural 

perior   to  modern   sin-  settings,  25 

dio,  14,  15  "the  Gates  of  Paradise," 

importance    of    study    of  138 

drawing,  15  Ghirlandaio    (Domenico),   his 


176 


INDEX 


Ghirlandaio — Continued 
decorations  in  Santa  Maria 
Novella,  35 

his  simplicity,  36 

his  painting  of  the  mode, 

36 
compared   with    Raphael, 

41 

Works 

The  Visitation,  36 
The  Birth  of  the  Virgin, 

36 
The   Birth    of   John   the 

Baptist,  36 

Giotto  di  Bardone,  his 
backgrounds  anti-natural, 
26 

Giorgione,    (Georgio    Barbar- 
elli,    called)     his     influence 
on  Titian,  43 
Greece,  sculpture  in,  11 
Greeks,  their  art  not   classic 
to  them,  34 

Hals  (Frans),  handling  of, 
compared  with  Holbein's, 
83 

compared       with       Rem- 
brandt, 100,  106,  111 
his  greatness,  130 
Hendrickje     Stoffels,     Rem- 
brandt's mistress,  95 
her  partnership  with  Ti- 
tus, 95 

her  death,  96 
as  model,  100,  103,  113 
Heist      (Bartholomew      Van 
der),  compared  with  Rem- 
brandt, 100 

Henner    (Jean    Jacques),    78 
Hilliard    (Nicholas),  77 
Holbein,   Hans,  the  younger, 
48,  61 

a  typical  realist,  46 
freedom  from  Italian  in- 
fluence, 46 
his  good  drawing,  46 


Holbein — Continued 

his  drawings  and  paint- 
ings compared,  46,  47 

his  drawings  at  Wind- 
sor Castle,  67,  80,  81, 
84,  85 

his    development,    67,    68 

Basel  period,  68-72 

his  birth,  68 

his  relation  to  Diirer  and 
Titian  in  point  of 
time,  68 

multifariousness  of  his 
work,  68 

earliest  work  reminiscent 
of  Diirer,  68,  69 

his  cartoons  and  designs 
at  Basel,  69 

his  treatment  of  light 
and  shade,  69-71,  76, 
78,  79 

influence  of  Italian  art 
upon,  68-72 

influence  of  Leonardo 
upon,  72,  74 

suggestive  of  Rem- 
brandt, 73 

English  influence  upon, 
73,  75-82,  86 

a  portrait  painter,  73-87 

influence  of  the  Nether- 
landish school  upon, 
74 

formation  of  the  Hol- 
beinesque  manner,  74 

a  court  painter,  75-77 

abolition  of  cast  shad- 
ows, 76-79 

influence  of  miniaturists 
upon,  77 

a  tradesman,  79 

limitations  set  for  him, 
79 

his    development,    80 

his  draughtsmanship,  81, 
85 

his  truthfulness,  81,  82 


INDEX 


177 


Holbein — Continued 
his  method,  82 
his  instinct  for  the  value 

of  his  material,  82 
superiority   of   his   draw- 
ings over  his  paintings, 
83 

his    handling   of   oil   col- 
ours, 83 

a      technician      of      the 
school    of    Van    Eyck, 
83 
his     handling     compared 

with   Hals's,  83 
his     handling     compared 

with  Titian's,  83 
his     handling     compared 

with  Rubens's,  83 
as  a  colourist,  84 
as  a  designer,  84,  85 
his       composition       com- 
pared   with    Raphael's, 
84,  85 

compared      with      Vero- 
nese's, 84 

conviction      of      life      in 

his  portraits   compared 

with    Rembrandt's,    112 

Holbein,  the   younger,  works 

of 

Lady     Heveningham,     47 
The  Dance  of  Death,  69 
The  Dead  Christ,  69 
The    Madonna    of    Solo-* 

thurn,  70 
The  Meyer  Madonna,  70, 

72 

The  Passion,  70,  71 
Touch  me  Not,  70,  71 
The  Nativity,  70,  71 
The     Adoration     of     the 

Magi,  70 
Lais   Corinthiaca,  72,  75, 

80 

Venus  and  Cupid,  72 
Portrait  of  Erasmus,  74, 
81 


Holbein — Continued 

Portrait     of     Jane     Sey- 
mour, 75,  77,  79 

Portrait     of     Anne      of 
Cleves,  75,  78,  81 

Miniature       of       Henry 
Brandon,  77 

Miniature      of      Charles 
Brandon,  77 

Portrait    of     Archbishop 
Warham,   78 

Portrait  of  Hubert  Mor- 
ett,  78,  80 

Portrait      of      Christina, 
Duchess    of    Milan,    80 

Portrait  of  George  Gyze, 
80,  86,  87 

Portrait  of  Lady  Lister, 
82 

Portrait    of    Lady    Hev- 
eningham, 82 
Hornebolt   (Lucas),  77 
Hunt  (Holman),  160 


"  Ilissus  "   of  the  Parthenon, 

132 

Illuminators,   34 
Individuality,  our  modern  re- 
spect for,  7 

commercial  value  of,  9 
Ingres      (Jean-Auguste-Dom- 
inique),  personality,  23 
compared     with      David, 

60 

his  drawing,  60 
his    hardness    of   texture, 

60 
his      unpleasantness      of 

colour,  60 
his  classicism,  60 
his  realism,  60 
compared    with    Holbein, 

61,  82 

compared  with  Diirer,  61 
Ingres,  works  of 

The   CEdipus,    60 


178 


INDEX 


Ingres — Continued 

The  Source,  60 

Ruggiero  and  Angelica, 
60 

Portrait  of   Bertin,   61 

Portrait  of  Madame  Ri- 
viere, 61 

Innocent  VIII,  tomb  of,  25 
Institute  of  France,   157 
Isabella,    Princess,    49 
Italian  comedy,  56 

Jardin  des  Plantes,  131 
Joanna    of    Aragon,    40,    44, 

47 

John  the  Baptist,  35 
Journeyman,      in      Mediaeval 

art  education,  5 

La  Farge  (John),  98,  115 
Liiiresse,       on       Rembrandt, 

102,  104 

Landscape,  Piero   Pollaiuoli's 

fondness  for,  21,  23,  25,  26 

Lastman    (Peter),    a   teacher 

of  Rembrandt,  93 
Lefebvre,   his   colour,   167 
Legion  of  Honour,  157 
Leighton     (Frederic,     Lord), 
material     rewards     of     his 
talent,   157 
Baron  Leighton  of  Stret- 

ton,  157 

president  of  Royal  Acad- 
emy, 157 
commander  of  the  Legion 

of  Honour,  157 
associate  of  the  Institute 

of  France,  157 
doctor  in  various  univer- 
sities, 157 

qualities  which  aided  his 
career  obscured  his 
talent,  157 

personal   attractions,    157 
Whistler's  phrase,  157 


Leighton — Continued 

Thackeray's  opinion  of, 
158 

only  Englishman  perfect 
in  figure  drawing,  158 

character,  158 

birth,  159 

education,  158 

early  life,  158-159 

artistic  training,  159 

pupil  of  Steinle  of 
Frankfort  in  1843,  159 

unique    in    England,    159 

equal  to  best-trained 
artists  anywhere,  159 

went  to  Rome  in  1852, 
159 

first  important  picture, 
159 

considered  equal  to 
Hunt  and  Millais  by 
Preraphaelite  oppo- 
nents, 160 

pleased  Preraphaelites 
and  Ruskin  by  his  me- 
diaevalism,  160 

transitional  work,  106 

uniformity  of  his  later 
work,  160 

knighted  in  1878,  160 

promoted  to  baronetcy, 
160 

raised  to  peerage,  160 

death,  160 

question  of  classification 
of  his  art,  161 

wherein  he  was  aca- 
demic, 161 

surpassed  all  but  Paul 
Baudry,  161 

his  drawing  distinct 
from  the  pure  aca- 
demics', 162 

his  sensitiveness  to 
beauty,  162 

representation  of  human 
figure  more  nearly 


INDEX  179 

Leighton — Continued  Leighton — Continued 

Greek     than     anything  Flaming   June,    164 

else  in  later  art,  162  Greek    Girls    Picking    up 

his  sculpture,  162  Shells     by     the      Sea- 

his   style,   163  shore,  165 

wrongfully     accused     of  Hercules  Struggling  with 

being       a        "  literary  Death  for  the  Body  of 

painter,"    163  Alcestis,  165 

sculpture    purely    artistic  Greek    Girls    Playing    at 

in  inspiration,  164  Ball,  166 

inspiration    rather    sculp-  Fatidica,  166 

tural      than      pictorial,  Leonardo   da  Vinci,  his  pro- 

164  found  mind,  38 

accessories     purely     pic-  his    feminine    ideal,    39 

torial,  164  his     influence     on     Hoi- 
best  work  fairly  master-  bein,  72,  74 

pieces,  164  Works  of 

not  a  master  of  compo-  La    Giaconda,    38 

sition,    165  Last  Supper,  38 
love    for    detail    destroys  The  Battle  of  the  Stand- 
illusion  of  motion,   166  ard,  38 
his   colour,   167  the  Sforza  statue,  38 
"pot-boilers,"    167-168  La  Belle  Feronniere,  38 
out     of     fashion    to-day,  Mona  Lisa,  38 

168-169  Leda,  39 

estimate  of,  169  Lorenzo    de'    Medici,    26, 

Leighton,  worka  of  27 

Cimabue's  Madonna  Car-  Louis  XIV,  quoted,  53 

ried       in        Procession  Louvre,  the  28,  41,  115 

through  the  Streets  of  Luxembourg,  the,  148 
Florence,  159,  160 

"  The         Daphnephoria,"  Manet  (Edouard),  48 

160  relation  with  Stevens,  62 

Orpheus,  160  Mantegna,      compared      with 

Pan,  160  Antonio    Pollaiuoli,   23 

Venus,  160  Marble  cutting,   15 

Clytemnestra,  162  Mass,    in    antique    sculpture* 

Antique     Juggling     Girl,  145,  146 

162  Mauclair,    his    book    on    Ro- 

Psyche,  163  din,   127 

The  Summer  Moon,  162  Rodin  bibliography,  127 

Summer  Slumber,  164  a  personal  friend  of  Ro- 

The  Sluggard,  164  din,  129 

Athlete    Struggling    with  an       extreme       partisan, 

Python,  164  129 

Needless   Alarms,  164  on  the      Gates  of  Hell, 

Clytie,  164  134 


180  INDEX 

Mauclair — Continued  Modelling,  technique  of,  12 

on  Rodin  as  a  composer,  importance  to  a  painter, 

137-138  14 

help  in  understanding  Ro-  Models,  living,  6 

din's  later  work,  144  Monet    (Claude),   145 

his  style,  144  resemblance      to      Rodin, 

explains    statue    of    Bal-  145 

zac,   150,   151  his  painting  of  light,  148 

defends       Rodin       from  Munich  gallery,   115 

charge     of     licentious-  Mural  painting,  10 

ness,  153  Muste    des    Arts    Ddcoratifi, 

Medici    (Lorenzo  de'),  26,  27  138 

Medici  (Marie  de'),  50  Museums,  6 
Mercantanza,  the,  21 

Metzu     (Gabriel),    compared  National  Gallery,  25 

with  Rembrandt,  111  Nature,    drawing    and    paint- 
Michelangelo    (Buonarotti  SI-  ings  from,  10 

moni),  compared  with  An-  Nature,     modern     knowledge 

tonio  Pollaiuoli,  20,  22,  23  of,  8 

Ghirlandaio  his  teacher,  36  Niello,  24 

painted    no   portraits,   38  Northern  schools,  45 

compared    with    Raphael,  Nude,    the,     Antonio    Pollai- 

40,  41  uoli's  treatment  of,  20 
Night,  132 

Rodin's  opinion,   136  Overbeck,  159 
Compared     with     Rodin, 

147  Painter,  what  the  name  con- 
reason    of   his   unfinished  notes,  129,  130 

works,  147  Painters,     education     of,     3, 

Ms    story-telling    quality,  10,  14,  15 

163  Painting,       Florentine       and 

Middle   Ages,   artist's   educa-  Venetian,  146 

tion    in,    3  Parthenon,  the,  132 

interest  in  dress,  34  Parthenon  reliefs,  20 

life  and  costume,  45,  47  Phidias,   135 

Milan,  37,  38  Pharaoh's   daughter,  34 

Millais    (Sir    John    Everett),  Photography,  6 

160  Plaster  casts,  6 

Millet     (Jean-Francois),    re-  Pointing,  15 

volt     of,     from     academic  Poldo-Pezzoli  museum,  37 

restrictions,    62  Pollaiuoli,     the,     see     Pollai- 

his    idea   of   composition,  uoli,  Antonio  and  Piero. 

165-166  Pollaiuoli,  the,  works  of 

Mode,  illustrated  by  master-  Adam,  28 

pieces,  33  Apollo  and  Daphne,  25 

its  place  in  art,  34  Annunciation,  21,  26 


INDEX 


181 


Pollaiuoli — Continued 

St.  Mary  of  Egypt,  26,  28 
Sts.  James,  Vincent  and 

Eustace,  26 
Hercules      and      Antaeus, 

26,  27,  28,  29 
Hercules  and  the  Hydra, 

26,  27,  28,  29,  30 
prisoner    brought    before 

Judge,  24,  28 
prudence,  21 

Pollaiuoli,   Antonio,  his  work 
compared      with     that      of 
Piero,  19 
his     importance     in     the 

study  of  art,  20 
his   defects,   21 
his  collaboration  with  his 

brother,  22 

his  portrait  on  tomb  in 
San  Pietro  in  Vincoli, 
23-24 

his    authentic    works,    24, 
his  method,  25 
his  share  in  work  attrib- 
uted to  him,  25,  26,  28, 
29,  30 

Pollaiuoli,     Piero,     a     lesser 

artist  than  his  brother,  19 

his     due     share     in     his 

brother's  works,  21,  22 

the  landscape  painter  of 

the   family,  23,  24,  25, 

29 

his  personality,  23 
his  first  work,  26 
Portrait     painters,     in     18th 

century,  56 

Portrait    school,    English,    57 
Prado,  the,  48 
Preraphaelitism,  160 

Raphael    Santi,    the    painter 
of  women,  39 

his  madonnas  an  ideal, 
39 


Raphael  Santi — Continued 

Donna  Velata,  40 

Joanna   of   Aragon,  40 

the  vice-reine  of  Naples, 
40 

his  carefulness  in  paint- 
ing costume,  40,  41 

his   drapery,  41 

his  composition  compared 
with  Holbein's,  84,  85 

his  conviction  of  reality 
in  his  portraits  com- 
pared with  Rem- 
brandt's, 111 

his  balance,   161 

his  idea  of  composition, 
165,  166 

realism,  45,  46 

Rembrandt      (Harmens      van 
Ryn),  53,  73 

his  birth  and  early 
training,  93,  94 

his  marriage,  94 

his  tricks  of  costuming, 
93,  98,  100 

as  a  fashionable  portrait 
painter  in  Amsterdam, 
94 

his  son  Titus,  95,  96 

his  decline  in  popularity, 
95,  97 

failure   of   eyes,  96 

his  death,  96 

his  record  preserved  in 
his  work,  96 

his  experiments  in  light- 
ing and  handling,  96, 
98 

volume    of   his    work,    97 

not  a  recorder  or  in- 
terpreter of  his  own 
age,  98 

his  portraits  of  himself, 
98-100,  106 

compared  with  Hals,  100, 
106,  111 


182 


INDEX 


Rembrandt — Continued 

compared   with    Van   der 

Heist,    100 

his    picturesque    imagina- 
tion, 100-102,  108 
his  draughtsmanship,  102, 

104,  105,   10T,   110 
his  form,  102,  108,  110 
as  a  technician,  102,  104, 

105,  110 

his  chiaroscuro,  102,  104- 
109 

his  vulgarity,  102,  103, 
113 

his  indifference  to  physi- 
cal beauty,  103 

as  a  colourist,  104,  105, 
107,  110 

his  two  natures,  105,  106 

his  chiaroscuro  com- 
pared with  Tinto- 
retto's, 108 

his  chiaroscuro  com- 
pared with  Correg- 
gio's,  108 

the  real   Rembrandt,   110 

conviction  of  life  in  his 
great  portraits,  111-113 

his  humanity  and  sym- 
pathy, 113 

compared  with  Ter 
Borch,  Metzu,  Ver- 
meer,  111 

his  conviction  of  reality 
compared  with  Velas- 
quez's, Titian's,  Hol- 
bein's, Raphael's,  112 

compelling  truthfulness, 
114 

effective  translation  of 
Bible  stories  into 
everyday  life,  115 

fertility  of  invention,  117 

attraction  to  Old  Testa- 
ment stories  and  life 
of  Christ,  117 


Rembrandt — Continued 

apocryphal  Book  of  To- 
bit,  118 

method  of  approaching 
Bible  subjects,  118 

greatest  of  illustrators, 
118 

his  drawings,  120 

excellence  in  drawing 
wings,  121 

his  unremitting  labour, 
122 

estimate  of  his  total 
works,  122-123 

compared  with  Shakes- 
peare, 123 

one  of  the  supreme  poets 
of  all  time,  123 

his  story-telling  quality, 
163 

his  visionary  lucidity,  165 
Rembrandt,  Works  of 

The  Anatomy  Lesson,  94, 
105 

The  Night  Watch,  95, 
100,  105 

The  Syndics,  95,  106,  113 

Sobieski,  99 

Portrait  of  a  Man,  in 
National  Gallery,  99 

The  Death  of  the  Vir- 
gin, 104 

Abraham  Entertaining 
the  Angels,  104 

The  Gilder,  105 

The  Burgomaster  Six, 
105 

Dr.  Faustus,  109 

The  Supper  at  Emmaus, 
109,  110 

The  Lady  with  a  Fan,  112 

Portrait  of  Elizabeth  Bas, 
112 

Portrait  of  an  Old  Lady, 
in  the  National  Gal- 
lery, 112 


INDEX 


183 


Rembrandt — Continued 

The  Shipbuilder  and  His 
Wife,  112 

Portrait  of  an  Old 
Woman,  in  the  Hermi- 
tage, 112 

The  Girl  with  a  Broom, 
112 

The  Man  with  a  Black 
Hat,  113 

The  Orphan,  113 

Portrait  of  Hendrickje, 
in  the  Louvre,  113 

Portrait  of  Titus,  113 

Return  of  the  Prodigal, 
(etching),  114 

The  Carpenter's  House- 
hold (Louvre),  115 

The  Descent  from  the 
Cross,  (Munich),  115 

Good  Samaritan,  115 

The  Supper  at  Em- 
maus,  115 

The  Raising  of  the 
Cross  (Munich),  115 

Vision  of  Daniel  (Ber- 
lin), 116 

original  sketch  in  pos- 
session of  M.  Bonnat, 
116 

Christ  healing  the  Sick, 
118 

Christ  Preaching,   118 

Little  Raising  of  Laz- 
arus (etching),  118 

Christ  Presented  to  the 
People,  119 

Tobit  Blind  (etching) , 
119,  120 

Drawings,  120-122 

Joseph  Comforting  the 
Prisoners,  122 

Job  and  His  Friends, 
122 

Lot  and  His  Family 
(drawing),  122 


Renaissance,  education  of  an 
artist  in,  3,  8,  14 

its  interest  in  dress,  35 
Leonardo,  38,  39 

painting  of  life  and  cos- 
tume, 45 

its  slow  progress,  47 
Robetta,     engraving    of    La- 
bours of  Hercules,  27- 
28 

Rodin    (Auguste),  conflicting 
opinions  of,  127 

all  art  of  France  a  pref- 
ace to  him,  127 

greatness  attested  by  bulk 
of  literature  on,  127 

characteristics  necessary 
to  critic  of,  128 

vigour  of  his  art,  129 

services  of  proper  esti- 
mate of,  129 

greatest  modeller  that 
ever  lived,  130 

master  of  representation 
and  of  his  tools,  130 

his  personality,  130 

his  temperament,  130- 
131 

a   natural   workman,    131 

birth  and  early  life,  131 

studied  under  Barye,  131 

assistant  with  Carrier- 
Belleuse,  131 

thrice  refused  admission 
to  Ecole  des  Beaux 
Arts,  131 

worked   in    Brussels,    131 

association  with  Van 
Rasbourg,  131 

early  work,   131,   132 

his  facility,   132 

is  offered  a  government 
commission,  133 

talent  shown  at  best  in 
fragments  of  Gates  of 
Hell,  134 


184 


INDEX 


Rodin — Continued 

his  independence  of  the 
Greeks,  135 

comment  on  Michelan- 
gelo, 136 

no  work  in  relief,  136 

has  no  general  plan,  138 

why  his  sculpture  can 
stand  mutilation,  141 

his  sense  of  design,  141, 
144 

compared  with  St.  Gau- 
dens,  144 

his   late    recognition,    144 

later  style  more  difficult, 
144 

an  impressionistic  sculp- 
tor, 145 

method  based  on  Greek 
art,  145 

modelling  to  obtain  light, 
146-147 

his  expression  of  mys- 
tery, 147 

modelled  light  as  no  one 
before,  148 

fascinated  by  masses  of 
unsmoothed  stone,  148 

his  unfinish  deliberate, 
149 

allegorised  method  of  in- 
completion,  149 

apparent  affectation,   149 

surfeited  exaggeration, 
149 

transferred  intentional 
roughness  from  marble 
to  bronze,  146 

possibility  of  being  daz- 
zled, 150 

a  romanticist,  152 

his  imagination,  152 

lacks  design  only  in 
larger  compositions,  152 

his  restraint,  153 

as  a  craftsman,  154 


Rodin,   Works   of 

The   Man   with  the   Bro- 
ken Nose,  131 
Age  of  Bronze,  131,  132, 

133,  134,  146 
St.     John     the     Baptist, 

133 
Gates   of   Hell,   133,   134, 

137,  143 
Danaid,        fragment      of 

Gates     of     Hell,     134, 

135,  136,  152 
The  Thinker,  138 
Burghers   of   Calais,   139, 

140,  142 
Bust       of       Mme.        V. 

(Luxembourg    Gallery) 

148 
Hugo      monument,      147, 

150 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  and 

bust,  149 

Jean-Paul   Laurens,    149 
Thought,  149 
Balzac,  149,  151 
Eternal  Spring,  152 
Romans,  their  art  not  classic 

to  them,  34 

Royal  Academy,  157,  159,  160 
Rubens   (Peter  Paul),  48 

his    contemporary    fame, 

49 

Van  Dyck    his  pupil,  49 
his    place    in    history    of 

art,  50 

historical   paintings,   50 
Helena      Fourment,      50, 

51 
his   painting  of  costume, 

51 

Garden  of  Love,  51,  56 
compared       with        Van 

Dyck,  51,  52 
compared   with   Watteau, 

56,  57 
Rondo,  57 


INDEX 


185 


Rubens — Continued 

handling     of,      compared 

with  Holbein's,  83 
as  a  painter  of  the  mode, 

62 
Rue   de   I'JZcole   de   Medicine, 

131 
Ruskin,  John,   98,   102,   104 

St.   Elizabeth,  36 
Saint-Gaudens       (Augustus), 
his  method,  142-143 

convincing  quality  of  his 

finished    product,    143 
his  design,  143 
compared  with  Rodin,  144 
Works  of 

Shaw  Memorial,  143 
Sherman,  143 
San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  23 
Sargent    (John   Singer),   48 
Saskia   van    Ulenburgh,   wife 
of  Rembrandt,  94 
her  death,  95 
as  model,  100,  103,  108 
Schools,  9,  10 
Sculptors,    education,    11,    12, 

13,   14,   15 

Sculpture,   conditions   of,   11, 
12,  13,  14 

lack  of  precise  name  for 
one   who   practices   the 
art  of,  129,  130 
Shakespeare,   123 
Sheba,  Queen  of,  34 
Simonetta,  a  Florentine  type, 

37 

Signorelli,      compared      with 
Antonio    Pollaiuoli,    20,    23 
Sixtus  IV,  tomb  of,  20,  25 
Society  des  Gens  de  Lettres, 

151 

Spain,  48 
Staggio,  26 

Steinle  of  Frankfort,  his  in- 
fluence on  Leighton,  159 


Stevens  (Alfred),  not  a  mere 
painter  of   frivolity,  33,  35 
as  a  painter  of  the  mod- 
ern woman  of  fashion, 
62 

relation  to  Monet  and 
Whistler  in  point  of 
time,  62 

his    craftsmanship,   63 
Stevens,  Works  of 
Une  Mere,  63 
Une  Veuve,  63 
La  Dame  Rose,  63 
Swanenburch   (Jacob  van),  a 
teacher    of    Rembrandt,    93 

Tanagra,  figurines,  34 
Ter  Borch  (Gerard),  man  of 
the  world,  54 
his   portrait,  54 
The  Concert,  54 
compared     with     Alfred 

Stevens,  62,  63 
compared       with       Rem- 
brandt, 111 

Tintoretto    (Jacopo    Robusti, 
called),  45 

his  chiaroscuro,  108 
Titian    (Tiziano   Vicelli),   his 
painting        of        Venetian 
women,  43 

Sacred       and       Profane 

Love,  43,  47 

his    relation    to    Holbein, 
the    Younger    in    point 
of  time,  68 
the  "Bella"  of,  82 
his     handling     compared 

with    Holbein's,    83 

conviction      of      life      in 

his   portraits   compared 

with    Rembrandt's,    112 

Tools,     the     modern     artist's 

ignorance   of,  8 
Tornabuoni,  Giovanni,  36 
Tornabuoni,  Ludovica,  36 


186 


INDEX 


Torre  del  Gallo,   24 
Torre  del  Greco,  28 
Tracing,  7 
Troyon   (Constant),  revolt  of 

from  academic  restrictions, 

62 
Turner   (J.  M.  W.),  137 


Uffizzi,  26,  28 


Val  d'Arno,  23,  26 
Van     Dyck     (Antony),     the 
pupil    of    Rubens,    '49,    51, 
82 

compared   with    Rubens, 

52 

English   portraits,   52 
Marie  Louise  von  Tassis, 

52 
painting   of   costume,  52, 

53 

Van  Eyck  (Jan),  45 
Van  Rasbourg,  131 
Vasari,   his   blunders    on   the 
Pollaiuoli,  19 

an  excellent  critic,  20 
Velasquez    (Diego    Rodriguez 
de  Silvay),  compared  with 
Holbein,  48 

Infanta    Maria    Theresa, 

48 
his  painting  of  costume, 

48 
contemporary       reputat- 

tion,  49 

overshadowed  by  Ru- 
bens, 49 

light  and  shade  of,  70 
compared    with    Holbein, 

82 

his  conviction  of  life 
compared  with  Rem- 
brandt's, 112 


Velasquez,  Works  of 

Portrait        of        General 
Borro,    usually    attrib- 
uted to,  70 
Venetians,  the,  41 
Venetian  art,  41 
Venetian     type     of     woman, 

42,  44 

Venetian  life,  42 
Venice,  40,  41 

Vermeer   (Jan  of  Delft),  his 
sensitiveness,  54 
the  Concert,  54 
painting  of  women's  cos- 
tume,  55 
compared     with     Alfred 

Stevens,   63 

compared      with      Rem- 
brandt, 111 
his  balance,  161 
Veronese      (Paolo     Cagliara, 
called),  35,  41 
Marriage     of     St     Cath- 
erine, 44,  45 
his    painting    of    women, 

44 

of  costume,  45 
the     last     of     the     great 

Italians,  45 
paints      what      he      saw 

about  him,  53 
composition        compared 

with    Holbein's,    84 
his    idea    of   composition, 

165,  166 
Verrocchio,  41 
Villa  della  Gallina,  frescoes, 

24 

Virgin,  the,  35 
Von  Tassis,  Marie  Louise,  52 

Watteau     (Antoine),    a    fol- 
lower of  Rubens,  56 
compared    with    Rubens, 
56 


INDEX  187 

Watteau — Continued  Watteau   pleat,  the,  57 

his   unreality,   56,   57  Wax,  modelling  in,  12,  13 

conventional   costume,   57  Windsor,  46 

drawings  and  studies,  57  Women,  their  part  in  artist's 

Gilles,  57  work,   33,    34 

Mezzetin,  57  Whistler   (James  Abbott  Mc- 

compared   with  the   Ital-  Neill),    48,     62,     157,     161, 

ians,  57  164 


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